Fetch

Life gestures to me in his eyes
beckoning me to movement
eager and expectant and critically alive

He pounces again at the ball
to remind me
how perfectly he's behaving,
how politely silent he
fixes his level gaze
hard into mine

He makes me put down my book and
engage
so now with sticky fingers I
cannot recapture the current
of the poetry

He plunges again --
I must put down the pen and live --
so the poem ends