Firedog

When straying from writing about my wife or kids

I’m instantly cognizant of something.

These are my muses I’m leaving 

for a second, of course,

but for territory off the beaten path.

Adam

is no stranger for sure, fundamentally my brother

Yet he doesn’t inhabit my space these days

my routine day to day.

We meet at Ghost River

and my bubble trails off

the routine of clocking in and out

washing my children while singing Baby Beluga

pouring the wine and sitting down

with Friday Night Lights

and I think “Oh yea. You!”

I don’t even have to remember you

for best friends are like family.

By default, their name comes to mind

every time you think over your story.

And just like Sammy

my childhood dog for twelve years

whose scent is practically engrained in my nostrils,

the warmth of your presence

rushes back

the memories of your apartment porch

catty corner Firedog

the Corner Market on 13th

intoxicate my spirit.