Sunlit on the sill,
one among the hulls
of blue-enameled flies,
legs up in triple Xs,
jolts to life for a instant,
and is still.
What was it you were promised?
Panting at your side,
the yellow dog,
tongue dripping on your shoe,
seems to love you, maybe,
tail thumping the rag rug,
as the next one will.
You could almost say forever.
