When the walk in the rain is over
she runs to the blue bath towel
that hangs on the wooden clothes tree
and waits for you to wave it
not like a matador but a magician
about to make her disappear
under the great fabric of love
that stretches back twelve millennia
When you massage her withers
her tail wags like a mad metronome
until she rolls over onto her back
nips at the frayed blue edges
licks your fingers like a lover
dares you to try to dry her paws
and you lock eyes and have to smile
you know how this shaggy dog story ends
Bruce Buschel is a writer who lives in Bridgehampton.