crawling along the floor
looking for your lost dog.
He died years ago and
pet resurrections don’t usually
occur in aisle two among the olives
and jarred pickles.
You tried to explain with sputtering words
that he was only a pup, you want
to take him home.
The police took you away from your search,
laughing and shaking their heads
thru the fumes of paint thinner
hazing your head.
Lost in the afternoon rain,
a dark alley echoes
with a dog’s barking.
Dan has been writing for a while. When you found he could not write in complete sentences, he stuck with poetry. His work has appeared in several journals and anthologies. He lives quietly in Pontiac, Illinois tending to home and garden.