The Book of Coming (Or Going)

Mary Lou Buschi

I have a dog at home with no sense of time.
My father used to walk her every morning
until one day he disappeared.  Then my mother
walked her every morning.

When my mother disappeared
I was reading Waiting for Godot.

Vladimir checking his hat—
Estragon tying his shoes—

I’m leaving on Monday for a week.
I tell my dog I’ll be right back.

Vladimir: We’ll hang ourselves tomorrow unless he comes.

Estragon: And if he comes?

Vladimir: We’ll be saved.