It’s twilight.
Sun signing off.
Shadows extend their reach.
Go to look for the dog one more time.

Can’t imagine him out on the dark streets overnight.
Why doesn’t he know what’s best for him?

Okay, I get it.
If we knew that
some of our habits
would now be just memories.
There’d be people
in our lives
we haven’t seen in ages.

So here I am,
out and about in the neighborhood,
crying out that mutt’s name.

I hope he hears better
than I’ve ever done.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.