Grieving Still...

A poem about her still grieving twenty years after Butch was killed.

Her turn at banking arrived, she observes
the teller’s name is Butch. “I had
a Butch once. I loved him so. It’s absurd,
but even now thoughts of him make me sad,

and it’s been twenty years since he was killed
by a speeding drunken driver hitting him
crossing the street. Grim images of his stilled,
bloodied body lying there still nightly swim

through my dreams. It seems I can’t quit grieving,
for Butch devoted his life to me for fifteen years,
giving me unwavering love, always protecting
and comforting me. At night I slept without fears,

Butch sleeping beside me, keeping me safe, secure.
He was the best.” Tears flow, words go unheard.
The teller, “He sounds like a great husband, for sure.”
“Butch was no husband. He was a German shepherd!”


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