Bryan Borland

For Spike, The Brave,
who licked toes and rode in wheelbarrows
and who slept on the crest of our roof, watching,
and Molly, The Mother, who
birthed my calico littermates,
kittens we resuscitated with mouth to mouth
who slept in balls at our feet.
For Honey, The Everything,
who loved me like her own,
deaf by old age, she read our lips
and hands.  Our castle was
the House of Cat and Cocker Spaniel
the first ten years of my life.
I pity the homes without stray
hair, or puddles of urine that dampen
socks unexpectedly.
The truth is I’ve loved more dogs
than men, our family plot more
our old backyard,
where dozens of shoeboxes
lay just below the dirt.