Three Poems About Leaving Kansas - Two

I heard the thirteen thuds of the metal end of your leash
hitting each stair in the front hall as you stole it away in secret
to lay in my place in the bed, to push your nose into the me-smell
of my pillow, until I return to put you aside or take you for a walk.
I mentally returned to my checklist of things to do before leaving you
for good, then wondered what kind of a house has thirteen stairs?

Fairwell, good friend, my spot is yours now. Though I am keeping
my shoes and underwear for my own.