An Elderly Dog

An Elderly Dog The sun is coming down hard the dog sleeps in the shadow on the terrace. I sit indoors and try to play the mandolin. Sweaty palms, no good. The dogs comes to the doorway barks. I put the mandolin on a chair, dog goes back to sleep. The winter had been long I had looked forward to summer, but this was too much. We, the dog and I, used to go to the beach, but dogs aren’t allowed there anymore and I’m too fucking old. I pick up the mandolin smash it against the living room wall, a picture of me in uniform falls down, broken glass everywhere. “Now, see what you have done.” I shout to the dog, but the old cur doesn’t batter an eyelid.