The wind runs fast
through the young winter night
Between the many houses
Down the many streets

And I watch
as the family I don't belong to
dresses a fake pine tree
with bright lights and shiny memories

I hear ice cube bouncing
in white Russian glasses
They throw sharp words and
laugh maniacllly at the lacerations they leave
The words get sharper
The ice gets louder
As the tree gets heavier

The old dog lies on the rug
seeming oblivious to it all
He is blind and deaf
And
Still
almost corpse-like except for the haggard breath
the haggard breath
the rising and falling
of the small weak chest
and the clicking of ice cubes on a
windy winter night.

He is living the good life.