the last dog

i can't get another
dog, because i hate when they
die and leave me to
their things.
the leashes and collars
still on the hook
by the door.
the dog dish in the kitchen.
the jackets
that they wore
when it snowed or was cold.
their toys
everywhere,
a bone or two buried
beneath a sock
in the corner.
the brush, the pills,
the bags and cans
of their food.
i can't get another dog,
i don't have
the room for more
sorrow in my life,
but i think about
it often.