“Of all the dogs,” declared our neighbor’s son,
While patting my Giovanni’s scruffy head,
“Who live near us, Kylie’s my number one.”
I’ve not the heart to tell him that she’s dead;

How callous metastasis can devour
Those least deserving of that awful plight,
How miserable to watch its awful power
Destroy a creature made of joy and light,

Or how the loss of a beloved pet
Can shatter elders’ fragile status quo.
Perhaps it is a blessing to forget
The reasons it is exigent to go.

I told the boy she moved to Michigan.
He then promoted Gio to number one.