You stand there
like an obedient dog
watching me work
as though I am worth
all that devotion
and not just a face
tied up with pursed lips
small hands typing and typing
like ants gathering crumbs
for some future feast
then again
you are more like a mule
stack of objects
balanced on your back
books
a picture frame
the Christmas cards I can’t decide
if I should keep
I noticed today
that you have chipped legs
even though nothing ever touches
your legs
it strikes me that
you are getting old
so I want you to know
if you splinter and crack
I won’t tell them you broke
I will tell them
how faithful you were
how you died
of old age.