Suffering follows the man like an
old Chocolate Lab coming up slowly,
nudging the man’s hand telling the
man that he’s still here.

Suffering comes at the man point
blank like a car charging sixty-five
miles an hour on a side street posted
twenty-five miles per hour.

The man with what peripheral vision
he has left looks to his left and then
to his right and, yes, suffering is
coming at him from those directions, too.

The man thinks to himself, Yes, that
really is the way it is. The man stops,
turns and watches the gray muzzled
dog limp up to him and kiss his hand.