He knows—he knows—the sink is where I rinse
off dishes bound for the machine
that once it’s filled will clean
them; years and years now daily he has seen
the process. Yet I can’t convince
him by unsubtle hints
to take postprandial rests away from there.
And it has taken years for me
to figure out why he
chooses this spot. What he would have me see
is that china and silverware
can wait: better to share
myself with him, touch noses, smooth his fur
and thus make both our mornings happier.