Some months ago a friend had given you (my dog) and me
   a trendy blue dog stroller as a gift.
At first we’d climbed the stairs to the sixth floor. We were in shape.
   But you’re so ill now, I give you a lift.

You sprawl out in your stroller as we stroll the neighborhood
   with noises louder than a brassy band—
lawnmowers, sirens, blowers, motorcycles, car horns, too—
   a soundscape canines couldn’t understand.

Along a side street, past a woodland edged by orange jewelweed,
   we come now to the campus of a college,
a quiet campus—grass and trees and students strolling round
   or studying to gain a lot of knowledge.

You feel the rattling of the stroller as it rolls across
   black pavement, smooth or pitted, or the clicks
of sidewalk cracks as constant as the rail joints under trains
   or the intermittent bumps of stones or sticks.

You smell the million scents around and hear a myriad sounds
   yet seldom lift your head to see the sights—
collegiate Gothic buildings, falling acorns, flowers, people—
   though every now and then a thought ignites,

a canine thought, a feeling, an emotion or—who knows?—
   from sunlight, random blue jay calls, a breeze.
Folks see you in your stroller and exclaim, “Oh, that’s so cute!”
   not knowing that you’re dying by degrees.

You shiver, will not eat, but slowly, slowly fall asleep
   and soon you’ll catch far more than forty winks.
Perhaps you’re dreaming now of all the many walks we’ve had
   or things you’ve munched on as the daylight sinks.

A little garden we roll past has lost its grapes and berries
   but squash and collards offer themselves up
while, by the fence, a row of phlox keeps flaunting its blue beauty,
   and I remember when you were a pup.

We’ve been to Talcott Mountain, Rockledge Golf Course, reservoirs,
   all kinds of parks and campuses galore,
mountain trails and greenwood trails and suburbs everywhere,
   and beaches, too. You loved to go explore.

And so, perhaps you’re dreaming now of all those grand adventures.
   Perhaps you’re contemplating all the days
you’ve had of sniffing, listening, running, barking, playing, viewing
   this world before we go our separate ways.