The Wishing Star
it streaked across the sky one night,
just above the red glow of her cigarette,
she made a wish; she made a thousand
wishes
that her trailer wouldn’t tilt to the left,
that her double shifts at the diner
would bring in enough tips to pay rent,
that her mother wouldn’t drink herself
to death
she didn’t really believe in stars
or Santa Clause or the tooth fairy,
just wasn’t raised on foolishness,
always looking behind bushes and
bruises
but there was something about that star,
the way it left a lingering dust tail,
that made her think maybe, just this once,
something in the cosmic universe might
My Dog Will Get Me
when I slowly rise from the bed,
each joint creaking
like a scarcely-oiled tin man;
he’ll lift his silken head
from his place on the duvet,
knowing it will take me
a few more minutes to walk
toward the kitchen cupboards
to make my tea and his breakfast;
when I stay in my tattered nighty
until midday, his kind brown eyes
will not judge, not even with my hair
yet uncombed, my teeth unbrushed;
we’ll putter around the garden,
looking for ripe tomatoes,
the only veggie I can still pick
without throwing my back out of kilter;
we’ll doze in the recliner after lunch
probably in the middle of a game show;
when I awake, I’ll search for my glasses,
and he’ll wait patiently, ears perked
for my shout of glee when I find them
atop my head; he’ll understand when
I’m out of dog biscuits and milk
and wag his tail when I promise
he can tag along to the grocer tomorrow;
should I grow melancholy, he’ll place
his paw on my arm and sigh in solidarity.
