Your familiar smell occupies
the well-lit staircase. I
pause on the landing, key in hand,
heavy bag on my shoulder.
I hear you shuffling as I open
the lock. You sit there, a large shadow,
patiently facing me, tail wagging.
I look beyond you and see
your masterpiece: chewed-up
paper, ****, ***.
I set my bag down,
scratch your ears, and
start cleaning.

I have only started cleaning your
mess, when you are already
helping clean up mine: all
anxious thoughts and
sad memories, waiting to
be flushed down the toilet.