Dog Is God Spelled Backwards
Waiting for the dog to finish,
I think of dead friends,
their unsent e-mails, their caved-
in hearts
The shadows under the trees
are bearded Hasids in long black coats
swaying during evening prayers.
I go back inside. The news is on.
It’s all tumors and acronyms.
She’s studying the calendar magnet
on the fridge. What about April,
she says, if March is no good?
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