The Gentleman

Captain Harlan T. Nelson, stationed

at the White House as a guard,

often saw the president talking

with a stray dog in his office or

as he walked to the War Department.

Wandering through the house

these lost souls roamed the halls

with their tongues lolling out or

barking suddenly at the mirrors—

but one day late in September

a Scottish terrier click-

clicked slowly into the office

and jumped onto the sofa

where Lincoln was studying maps

and the dog sat there scratching

at a flea and then said, “I’m having

some problems with my health,”

and Lincoln turned and

understood being himself exhausted

to the bone which the terrier

sensed and so they spoke awhile

of the cause of the Union

and the trouble with generals

who will not fight and of the arc

and flight of hickory sticks

thrown really heaved up into

the blue sky so that it seems

they will never come down,

“Just floating,” he said, “as if

by magic.” “Yes,” said the other,

“the one thing that would redeem

everything else in life that is ruin

and loss.” “Yes, magic,” he said,

“and love.” Two sparrows flickered

fighting in the boxwood outside

making the branches spring

and the gentleman suddenly

noticed the time, shook the hand

he was offered and wandered off

through the ornate hallways down

the front yard slowly towards

the slaughterhouse and the wharf.