come home

the dog is lonely
in the window.
his bark is just a yawn.
he stretches in
the sunlight, ignores
the mail man
as the mail falls
to the floor.
what's the point?
he looks down the street,
listens
for your car.
circles again
on the pillow, scratches
at the feathers
and shrugs.
what's taking him
so long.