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Dog Day
The dog is off his food.
He circles the day-old pellets
gone soft in the humid kitchen.
One dissolves in his water dish.
The house plants lose heart.
In the spare room
a ficus leaf draws,
drops to the bare floor.
Even lovemaking falters.
She gives him her backside
and wonders how
the novel on the nightstand will end.
The foundation sinks.
Cracks open in the white walls,
and none of the doors quite
close.
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