It’s just the three of us now –
Gus and Charlie, white Pomeranians,
two little mops at the end of their leashes,
and me, too, my mop of white hair
coiffed for whom, now?  

Gus trots the path of fidelity
to sidewalks and fire hydrants he knows
but Charlie keeps looking back
like he’s wondering where is Hank?  
Every day we make the rounds
Gus and Charlie tugging me
in different directions