she got a puppy from a friend
while reading ‘robinson crusoe’
and so she named that dog ‘monday’
as an hommage to ‘friday’

but more and more, over the years,
she’s seen that name to be more apt
as like a monday, he seems worn,
unready for the week

and often, he’s right in the way
of where it is she’d rather be,
like monday, once again, he is,
his inconvenient spots –

but weeks, they would not be complete
without the day that monday is;
so she has come to love that dog,
her eighteen year companion

and there beneath the waking sun,
he sleeps, withal his labored breath,
yes, her dog monday, ever true
as she’s been true
to him