Run With Her
He was tired, the gloss
had gone off the day,
but there was still the dog,
pacing, appearing at his desk
in indicting silence, with that chafing
yet stoical stare—the dog drawing him
on and out into day’s dimming aftermath, . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
You tell yourself all kinds of lies to get through the day. — Chris Ware