She’s been relieved of burden
and now her lot is light
responsible for nothing
but purposing her room

plus pleasing her new Warden
who blankets her in night:
a peaceful undertaking,
the purpose of a tomb.

There's something to be said for country living
when you have children and they have a dog
so when the dog dies they can practice giving
a small beloved one its due. His due.

When I was growing up, my older brother
and I buried out back my guinea pig
Mathilda, then his turtle Tim, another
pig, dogs, cats, et cetera. We knew

which loved one was entombed beneath each mound
of dirt because we marked each with a cross
whittled from sticks my brother and I found
in the woods to commemorate each loss.

In the big city, the Department of
Animal Removal, whatever it
is called, won't treat my kids' dog with the love
they would if we lived somewhere with a lawn

and woods, and dirt between, where they might dig,
deposit, and remember any pet
they ever love, not just their current dog,
and practice for the day when I am gone.