That Dog by Michelle Meyer

There he is again,
that dog,
the one that wags his tail
and trots out to greet me
because he knows that I am always
carrying a treat.
I call his name
and he runs to me, but
he never follows me.
He knows where home is.
He knows,
as I walk away,
that home is not
with me. He doesn’t love me,
but he likes me.
And I like him too.
We like each other
in the way that seasonal employees
like each other,
able to pick up right where
we left off,
able to say goodbye
without tears.



Michelle Meyer is a hiker, housesitter, and tireless gardener. Her poems have recently appeared, or are forthcoming, in After the Pause, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Minnow Literary Magazine, The Talking Stick, Welter (from the University of Baltimore), and Writing in a Woman’s Voice among others.