for you, for me

it's a relief when the dog
dies.
half blind,
deaf,
his teeth awash in
pink.
it's a selfish thought,
the end
of walks, of carrying
him out to a bush
or tree
in the rain.
it's a terrible thing
to love and resent
a living thing,
but so it is
at the end of any
long life,
perhaps how it will
be
for you,
for me.