I Sit on the Porch, 0919/2011 - by Bob Dahl
I sit on the small, open air, cedar porch with glass slats for a roof, leaving the door into the great room open to hear the outcome of the golf tournament.
My wife sits inside under a lamp sewing one of her fabric sculptures on a quiet Sunday
I set down my wine glass on the wood floor away from where the dog will be and look up to see rain drops on the slats.
My Chocolate Lab wakes, slides off the couch, follows me out of the house and faces me, tail wagging fiercely.
He barks his whiskey bark, a bone collapsing in his old throat.
He gags and coughs, courteously turning his head down and away.
He turns back, looks directly into my eyes as if challenging me, “Come on, buddy. Let’s rumble.”
I wipe a sleeper from his eye left again by a busy sandman and pat him on his head. His tail swings rhythmically.
He squints approval and lifts his bony, football player’s knees into the house looking
for his mistress.