Body hurts.
Soul creaks.
Dogs need feeding.
Sky cracks pink.
Another day?
Hell yes.
The floor’s cold.
Shoes by the door,
one laced, one not—
thesis of my life.
The dogs circle,
impatient philosophers
with twitchy tails,
ready to chase the day
while I’m still
negotiating gravity.
Outside, the wind talks
through alley wires.
Trash cans rattle,
as if the night
left messages.
We step out,
paws first,
feet after.
The world smells like rain
and asphalt and promise.
The sun hasn’t decided yet—
neither have I.
But we go.
Because the dogs say so.
Because the day says so.
Because hell yes.
