the piece we found

the guy at the auto shop says
the engine keeps sputtering
before it comes to a halt
he thinks the gears are beginning to fail

my cab ride drops me off at the hospital
for an MRI then a CT scan
i go through all the machines
and acronyms
fill out the gaps in the medical forms
like the mystery is going to work

my doctor says i’m holding together
and to please keep up with the maintenance

so i get home to my dog
who doesn’t come up to greet me
she’s done it on the carpet again
and is hiding in her beddie
embarrassed at her incontinence

she’ll not even dare look up at me
and anticipates a rebuke
our world is small
at times i have stepped over it
like i own the place and the conversations
i have thrown in slurs
and acronyms
i don’t know how to handle
age-related bodily misfunctions
hers or mine

her breathing is irregular and labored
she is shaking with fear
and begins to cry
that she has disappointed me
i blot the carpet
walk up to her bed
and quietly sit by her
just sit next to her and caress her back
try to find a place away
from acronyms and hardened words
that have grown like an illness
i never considered a cure for

her muscles want to loosen up
mine complain and are swollen
there is little else we can do
at this point
we wait

i lift her up and we sway to the door
she barks with relief and
nibbles at my ankle to hurry me
for our evening walk

a text from my mechanic
hits my phone
says i’m probably missing some piece

my dog sniffs tree trunks

then looks at me
she wants to know
what i am going to do

and i am okay
pieces or not
i am finally okay to take this walk

Miguel Rodríguez Otero is the author of La Mujer que Huele a Café (a short story collection, 2019) and El Lugar del Norte (2021). His stories have been published in Madrid, Copenhagen, NYC and elsewhere. Some of his poems have just appeared in The Lake and Book of Matches. He likes to walk country roads at sunup and is friends with a heron that lives in the marsh near his home.