Near the end, the experts on loss
sold us a robot dog that barked
and leaned into the touch
to give comfort to my blind dying
mother. She wasn't fooled enough
to name it—or gone enough,
though she was pretty gone
then. We put it in her hands
and she stroked it
then hurled it across the room.
Nothing to lose is never true.
Always something more to lose.
I turned the dog off.
Bad dog, I said.
mother. She wasn't fooled enough
to name it—or gone enough,
though she was pretty gone
then. We put it in her hands
and she stroked it
then hurled it across the room.
Nothing to lose is never true.
Always something more to lose.
I turned the dog off.
Bad dog, I said.
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