And how are you? is asked. I am
—it’s not a matter, I think, it’s not me.
I end up saying alright I’ve got the dog
the dog helps and you, you went to Maine?

It won’t do to break down too much to do
the fitted sheets that pry, the all matter
of pills, the callous way I find I fix the covers.

Having traded dinner for feeding I fear
the need to watch for boils
of resentment as much as I fear
the need to wash so much underwear.