Grief is like a hungry dog
That stares me in the face,
Wanting to be fed, drooling all over the place.
It begs for attention until I relent,
Give in and feed it.
But it’s never enough,
Nothing makes a dent.
It follows me ‘round the house
Wherever I go, even on the john.
Please! Get out!! Go away!!
What a nuisance… be gone.
It tries to crawl on top of me
Day and night.
It’s under my feet, tripping me up,
Never out of sight.
Sometimes it sneaks off to a corner to doze.
I get a much-needed break…
Then it’s back, pawing at me,
Climbing in my lap, seeking an angle of repose.
Still, I wonder, can it be trained
Or contained?
Am I feeding it too much?
Can I give it up, find it a new place to stay?
Maybe I’ll try to walk with it today.