MBA

My dog Alfie has a master’s in business. He teaches me sound investment. Outside, I can find his left ear at half-mast almost any time listening to tips in the free market; insider trading is his second nature. His real loyalty is for the wind, what it brings him; he likes safe risks that pay off. His sure tongue goes for the profit of air, unable to resist the appeal of high yield, liquidity. Impatient with hope, he harvests the horizon for movement. He was never interested in my false promises; words just make him hungry. Years of my betrayals and years of his forgiveness bind us in a perfect union. He’s in this for the long haul, knows there is nothing lasting to be gained by separation. His eyes always say, “There’s no room for remorse” -- and, besides, he’s not counting, so we can go on together. Between deals, there’s always love and food and walks in the sun. And even if we lose everything, his tail consoles me, saying, “Suicide is stupid; dividends are overvalued.” His nose will always find employment in the earth’s skin.