Illusions of thanksgiving

  

            A dark shadow like the head

            Of a small black dog

            Moved outside the window

            Behind him who unmoved by

            My remark continued talking.       

            I crossed and looked but like

            The others it wasn’t there.

            Potatoes, ham, stories

            And pictures arrayed

            Across the afternoon

            And into night.  Susan couldn’t

            Be pried away.  “Fine,”

            She said to my objection.

            Do they think this night

            Might be the final one,

            So many celebrations

            And this the last?

            It passed again or so

            It seemed, behind me on the stairs

            And there beside me on the floor

            Awaiting my attention.