He thinks she must be alien or angel
to love the wreck of his body, the ruin
of his mind—to pick him, the senior dog
from the shelter, the old dog whose only new trick
is napping, whose growing deafness augments
selective listening and a growing paunch.
What would move her to bring him his iced tea
where he sits in the garden swing and suns himself
and forgets what she said would be for dinner?
He gnaws this puzzle off and on, this mystery
of her kindness, her patience, and resolves
to pay her back in kind, to fetch something for her,
a gift from Amazon. But then a hummingbird
will dart by him and hover low in that bush
with the long red flowers that he planted
when he knew its name and then another wave
of orange blossom scent washes over him
and three white-crowned sparrows drop like magic
and start their two-step in the millet seed.
Steven Rea is the author of the archival photography books The Hollywood Book Club, Hollywood Café, and Hollywood Rides a Bike. He produces the website ridesabike.com. For many years he was the film critic at the Philadelphia Inquirer. His poems have appeared in The Paris Review, The Seneca Review, and other publications. A chapbook of twenty poems, Neither Can I, was published in late 2024. He lives in Belfast, Maine.