It is a hot summer day, I’m hot and sore.
Sweat runs into my eyes, as I bring the shovel down yet again on rocky soil.
You stand beside me, and finally tell me the hole is deep enough.
The dog’s coffin is a cardboard box that boots came in.
We lower the box into the ground, and I cover it up again.
We don’t say much, and you are distant and businesslike.
But we went through that together, at least you weren’t alone.