The wife brought home one, then two
and finally a third dog- big ones-
to live in the lanais on the washable rug
amongst a few sticks of furniture
that didn’t fit into a shared house.
He didn’t have a say in its acquisition-
the belongings he carried in were few,
suits that he would never wear again
and his collection of beer koozies.
What was hers was not his, though
he was put in charge of the beasts.
She bought the dogs thinking
that she would loan them out to hospitals
or nursing homes to comfort the old and infirmed.
Instead, he would walk the dogs to the beach
littered with holiday makers’ trash- broken toys,
half-eaten sandwiches and bottles.
He brought a thermos filled with gin and juice
to pass the morning before it got too hot
and the late summer stragglers arrived.
As his only companions lazily sniffed sand,
waves rolled in taking out summer’s leftovers
and he was left alone with the dogs
on a beach too close to the water.