All boys are toys
I came home last night to find that my
laptop had crawled up onto the table
in anticipation of my being there,
and the piano light had switched itself on,
and two eggs had cracked themselves
into a skillet on the stove. It was odd
because I never make eggs for dinner,
but beyond that it was kind of nice.
Kind of nice to know that things,
like dogs, grow fond and want
to be had, to be used, to be played.