Sunday

Rare peace.
This is our chore day.
Walk him the longer way;
red leaves backlit by the early sun.
Dry and canned,
coffee and the unwise doughnut.
Pills. Get out the cheese.
Trim our nails.
She empties the fridge.
The dump.
Walk him by the river,
let him wade,
then home, his lunch and mine.
We nap.
She fights the tide of darks and lights.
I fold laundry,
not knowing what is whose,
while he waits for us to walk him.

October 21 2020