As the fog of sleep lift
Thoughts of my best friend filled every crevice,
How was he? Would he still be suffering?
From the warmth of the covers,
To the cool air brushing past my face,
All faded away as I scrambled to change.
At first, I thought I’d do the usual,
Brush, clean, change and leave,
But then I heard my boy was still suffering.
Thoughts of time away,
Weeks I’ve spent on the road,
All brought guilt and regret.
Even time spent the night before,
Playing together in a field,
Chasing a ball, running for the sheer joy of the fresh air,
Even then I felt as I’d betrayed
My good boy, my friend, my Jig.
His softness I missed,
His smooth skin and beautiful brown eyes,
His passionate and loving stare.
Plans changed as did I,
Poised to bear this out,
With packed necessities, determined I walked to my boy.
Words seemed unnecessary,
We knew what came next:
His health, life and comfort was all I wished now instilled.
Minutes passed and we were out,
With him laying on the blanketed back seat,
Veda comforting him as we drove away.
One hospital closed, we left for another,
Closer still to home,
And all the while I still lamented the night before.
Had our run affected him so?
Or was it deeper still,
An ironic justice he suffers for me for time I spent away?
Nothing mattered, not any of the caring days or nights,
Only what I’d not given:
More of the effervescent moment.
Only one thing remained:
The twisted road ahead,
What awaited us at the hilltop, at the next bend!
What Do You Think?
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