10am. Every Day, Even When It Rains

by Michael Mark

We’re all widowers here, all old guys,
just happened that way. Our dates
are dogs. Terriers, labs, mutts.
They rush to each other, tell secrets
in their own language,
the way our wives would at parties,
going off together, leaving us to us
before they left us. Jangling
our leashes, whistling, clapping,
waiting, waiting.