When the dog died

When the dog died
we got a second one
and named him
Chico
just like the first,
so we could pretend
that nothing ever happened
in our little house
in Newfoundland,
that the cod were still
plentiful and that the old
fishermen didn't pay for
their booze with
welfare checks.

"Look," my mother said,
"There goes little Chico,
always full of energy."

In the summer, the storms were
heavy and the big sand bank
lost twenty feet to the
ocean. And we came
that much closer
to falling in too.

Evan Pebesma