moe and a bag of trash

after eating a
bag of trash
that i had forgotten
to set out on
trash day
my dog would often
hide in the basement
before i got
home from work,
tight behind
the big couch
against the wall.
he'd lie there
quietly,
holding his
breath, his belly
full of chicken
bones and scraps
from the the week
gone by. usually
there was a trail
of cans, and
wrappers, milk
cartons and
licked cores
of apples that led
me to him. and
when i'd find him
wedged between
the wall and
the couch i'd drag
him out and give
him a stern
lecture on eating
trash, the dangers
of those sharp
chicken bones, but
he never seemed
to pay my warnings
any mind. the bag
to him, left
unattended was
fair game, what
if i never came
home, then what?
and i sort of
understood that,
and respected his
position on
the issue.