ANDY ASK AGAIN, ASK AGAIN AND PUSH ❋ Stephanie Barber

how much they laid on the
floor
listening to albums. andy’s body immobile.
the day we asked the lord to return to us our suffering’s
undulant.
his white fur winded on the still carpet.

outside the window a chorus of poets
looked in on these two.

man and dog.

both white with hair and their ears full with the music.
one still and one waving. wandering through the plied patterns.

how much andy and the day we asked the lord to return to us our suffering
wrote letters to their doctors deep into the night.
letters about the music they loved.

they went, generally, like:
“oh dear i can barely understand the way this one makes
me feel.
am i sick?
am i alive with how much this hurts?”

the doctors, like the moonlit poets, are calm.

bemused behind glass.

handy with assumptions.
pitch perfect.
night.