Wake Up
Wake up, Master.
I’ve been sitting at the end of the bed
waiting for you to
wake up.
It’s 4 a.m. Time to take me outside.
Green carpet is not grass.
I remembered to
wake up, Master.
It’s time to roll out of bed.
You can get clean
while I search for cold crunchy bacon
in the garbage can
you wake up, Master?
It’s time to eat your breakfast.
My empty bowl is on the floor
still from a week ago.
Not today, you’re late again.
I bark and I yell and you never
wake up.
It’s time to leave for work. I’ll watch you go
in that machine that smells like hospitals.
Don’t worry, I’ll protect
the house while you
wake up, Master.
It’s time for me to nap a while too, dreaming of
when I can leap up, lick your face,
but I forgot: no jumping when you
wake up.
It’s time for you to come home so I can
drop my lamb at your feet, the one you bought me once you
wake up, Master.
It’s time to pat my head and,
when you do, that’s all I’ll need.
But until then, I’m still sitting here,
waiting for you to open your eyes,
wake up,
and see my smiling face.

