Is he mad now?
We’ve seen him talking
To his one remaining dog;
Then watching to see
If she misses Ginger
As much as he;
Which anyone should know,
And abandoning his books
For tablets without print
Or sense then scribbling
In them. The rain
Is falling again
So he makes tears
Of it and listens
Intently with pen poised
As though there were
Someone out there
For him in the darkness
With dank wet fur
Ready to lead him away
Whenever he would choose.
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