my nose is a strawberry

my toes distinctly icicles

every finger has been transformed

into that of a dead man

every inch of me shivers in the chill

too cold to do anything

but huddle beside the heater

dreaming of the sort of warmth

you can feel in your bones

I can’t tell you the amount of

joy you bring to me.

the mornings with you next to me

the feel of your furry spine

against mine

I reach back and scratch your

little yellow ass

and I laugh

since picking you up off the streets of Glendale

when you were no bigger than your head is now

almost 9 years ago

you’ve been there for me through a lot,

through the deaths

and jobs and hours

and poverty

publishing deals

nightmares

book tours

and even times without

a real home for both of us.

It’s been a long and weird life for you, pal

and while I wasn’t always a perfect dad,

with the perfumed bodies taking your side of the bed

with all the days of you trapped inside while I wrote

or in the car while we drove across the States for

no other reason than to keep your old man sane

I hope that you continue to remember and live for

the good times

the morning walks, the songs improvised in your honor

the kisses on your head

the scratches on my face and glasses and

sometimes even my eyeball

from your Fritos-smelling paws

you’re that beautifully impossible to find one in several million

and I love you more than a

page can say.