First:

I cared for my 
kennel-coughing 
basset   stroking
his fur  mopping
his spittle as he
barfed between barks
all night and morning

Then:

I transplanted a madevilla
and a volunteer tomato
vine that sprouted in a
flower pot last summer
still refusing to “go gentle
into that good night”
(earning my respect and
no doubt Thomas’s were he
here and not in that good night)

I read
I thought
I ranted
I lamented

as all men do whose
careers have crashed
on seas of change
and must learn anew
what gives meaning
to simply being

But I didn’t poem until
now with the sun high
in the sky and me relieved
that I met my deadline
as good reporters do.

And tomorrow….