grim

there was a newspaper headline buried in the recycling bin

the other day, warning me that the sixth major extinction is

upon us. the two giant black hounds that get pets and treats

from passing students suddenly become harbingers.

they read our palms with wet noses and well-meaning, sorry to

see us go just when we were all getting so friendly.

there are apocryphal messages in the wag of their tails.

grassroots activists search in the yard for old bones, proud.

the state has started to sniff around like squirrels, sure they

buried something but not entirely sure where. we

look for leaders, find only the empty nests of some migratory

birds and just in time to hear them call backwards as they fly

away from here.

grim, the cat tugs forward at her

leash. where do you think we’re

going?

she only laughs.