Da is dying

Da is dying.

He won’t eat. Not even V’s chicken, He turns his head from even his favorite treats.

There are tears in me too. Not yet. I feel them waiting inside me.

His transition has probably been gradual, But it took us by surprise, all skin and bones.

Old Darwin stays upstairs, under the bed, In the corner of V’s closet, stoic in the dark.

Not yet. Still he comes to me and speaks That sweet croak that asks to be stroked.

And so we sit our vigil and hope for not yet. More time with our favorite curmudgeon…