Dog Years

by Adam Giannforcaro

Image © http://www.123rf.com

His wide hands around my waist,
I’m assisted down a single step
Into the backyard.
My paws soaked and cold in grass.
I squat in pain, joints aflame,
Release my fluids.
Water parachutes from the gray.
My coat heavy and matted,
I’m assisted inside,
Wrapped in a towel by his wide hands.
My hair– sopping and tangled,
My collar jingles.
Watch me ice skate on kitchen tile,
Reaching the rug, my comfort zone.
I collapse.
Assured, I’m a good girl. Beautiful.
Wide hands rub my ears,
I lean into his scratch.
He walks. Don’t leave me just yet.
Too much pain to follow,
Old woman I am.
I try. My hips creak and crack.
My body sways, but fall again.
A rusty gate I am.

©Adam Gianforcaro 

Adam is a writing arts graduate fromRowan University (2010). He has recently been promoted
to Social Media Director for Philadelphia Stories. His short story "Mr. Douglas" is being
published in the upcoming issue of Battered Suitcase.

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