Friday Poem: "Falling Asleep With the Dog"

Here's an early poem, one of my first publications, that I wrote about my Boston terrier, Harvey. Like many of his breed, he had a big personality in a small package. One of his more quirky traits was his nightly routine of digging a nest in the covers, which he did very busily. I still miss him.

Falling Asleep With the Dog

They say it’s dog instinct
to tamp a nest in tall grass
by spinning in place a few times
before curling into sleep—

but this seems dubious at best
especially for a dog who
has never slept in anything deeper
than shag carpet or a rumpled afghan—

but here he is anyway, 
pawing down the sheets.
Soon he settles into a little black heart
at the center of the bed.  

In the immense quiet,
the gears of my nightstanded watch 
grind like teeth.  I twitch and roll
in the pillows, the dog opens an eye

and glares at my restlessness.  
Still I twist the covers,
trying again to master the few simple turns
it takes to work daylight out of the body.

This poem first appeared in Mudfish #11.