We Love You, Mr. Molesley

I don’t know what’s worse.
This, or the waiting.
Five days it’s been.
Seems a lifetime ago,
bounding, he chased Trouser on white sheets of winter.
A limp, out of nowhere.
“Water on the elbow”, she said.
“Should be better in a few days”, she said.
Except it wasn’t.
“We’ll increase the pain meds, that should help.”
Yesterday, he couldn’t stand.
“I’m thinking an abscess. IV fluids and antibiotics”, she said.
There’s always more, though.
“If it’s cancer, that’s another story.”
David’s face breaks.
Years of practiced posturing allows me to ask
the question I already know the answer to.
Nodding at the response is all I can do.
“Let’s wait and see what the end of the day brings.”
So we wait, as Trouser bounds on lone sheets of winter.
The waiting.
Yes, it’s the worst.