That Nothing I Do

That Nothing I Do

Every morning, it’s all the same,

sunshine, snow days, wind or rain.

Linda leaves for work, little dog shows up,

she licks my eye, my forehead, sometimes my arm-

It’s her game, I don’t ask questions.

I raise the blind, she looks outside,

she barks at other dogs.

The bark is loud.

Both ears rattle and thump,

deep in the drum.

Lily’s job is done.

She leaves.

I sleep another hour.

I come downstairs, piss, turn off the kitchen TV

and crank up the music to fit my mood.

Lily is curled in her bed, below the kitchen table,

...snoring.

She’s almost 14. That's nearly 98 in dog years.

The coffee pot is off. It’s 9:03 AM.

That perfect gulping temperature is once again,

quietly celebrated in my head.

The mug I pour is 40 oz.

I throw a palm full of pills in my mouth and swallow.

The dog never moves.

I turn the coffee pot back on.

I’m at the table now.

I flip my MacBook open,

take the phone off the charge,

check my messages.

I keep the phone to the left of me.

You know, like grandma kept her bible-

just in case she’d need a quote.

Same routine, every day.

But weekends.

Linda has off on weekends.

And that changes everything.

So it’s Email, obituaries, horoscopes.

Gazette, The Times, and The Washington Post.

I slide the dog, and her bed,

about six more inches- with my house shoe.

She still doesn’t move,

her head does a little.

She kinda’ winks.

I fact check sources for balance and truth.

Sometime that cause is lost.

My feet have found their place.

People gonna’ believe

what they wanna’ believe.

I open Facebook.

Type my Happy Birthdays-

and how do you dos.

Scroll, like, scroll, and go.

shake my head,

coulda’ stayed in bed-

But I didn’t.

Little dog makes me happy,

She tells me it's time for a walk.