I wake to find that in all my childhood memories
our family dog has been replaced by a pig.
Although I still have the photographs that confirm
soft fur and sad eyes, when I think back—to that
day at the beach, say, or that incident with the cake
on the coffee table—it is a pig I picture now.

Outside, a hefty wind crams cherry blossoms into
mud. Changes to our structure continue to evolve
and are fully supported by HR, we learn at the staff
meeting. Does the dog-or-pig thing matter?

Oink, says the baby.
No, woof, I say.

How should I cook it? I ask, assessing my meagre
collection of pans.