I rolled out and noticed
The bed across the room.
Empty.
The room was cool,
The unwashed everywhere,
And the door was open.
Usual.
My flights and landings were measured.
I bounded down.

Funny! His bedroll was not on the couch arm.
I searched.
Mammy's kettle whistled; her mug filled.
I heard the familiar tsk, the click of her teeth,
And the spoon circling and swirling
The teabag.

Through the window, over the picket fence
The maple tree was missing an opposing limb,
Resembling a cactus,
And I, soon to be four.
I once dangled from there,
Hearing Rossini pulsing through my neck
To my head,
Above the wheel ruts below.

Hmm. Not behind the couch.
The cupboard?
Under the hanging lace tablecloth?

The T.V. was dead.
The lasso missing.
His initialed boots gone.

I suppose I can loosen my knotted iodine neckerchief.

Hi-** Silver.
Away.