My Loyal Dog

My loyal dog,
the night, has no tail
to wag in welcome
when I approach.

You are laughing at me,
I can tell.  You say
the night’s not my dog
at all.  That dog belongs

to no one and you chide me
for presuming such a thing.
But you’re so wrong.  I’ve kept him
on a leash so long

he appears to be free,
but he’s my dog all right —
waits for me all day
until I come home and feed him.

Though there’s no tail on him,
I can tell my dog loves me.
How else to explain why I am licked
by darkness so often?

Tags: poems, poetry, depression