I've memorized the dance routine to get down my creaky staircase;
left two three, right two three, spin, skip and check.
Then quickly get into the garage for a way-past-bedtime cigarette.
Once I’m done, I quietly walk into the living room to check on her.
Although my mother has a large bedroom,
her hips are so brittle she's claimed the living room as her nighttime retreat.
My stomach churns with guilt as our puppy leaves her side
tail wagging excited to come greet me,
something she never does for my mom.
Alone on the couch,
her desperate attempt for the shared affection our dog gives her children
clearly having failed; I nearly collapse from the guilt.
If only I could force that dog
to give her the one thing she needs, craves and deserves.
Why must the world be so hard for some, and easy for others.
Where people have their lives destroyed,
their lovers killed, their passions crushed
and others sail through it all in bliss.
Why can’t this ******* puppy go back to sleeping at my mother's feet
to show she loves her as much as my brother and I,
instead of following me back up the stairs.
A clumsy dog wouldn't know to avoid that bottom step,
my mother wakes to cold feet.