~

I don’t know if she is walking 

the dog or if the dog is walking her,

but by the time they get to 

the bench by the mailbox,

she looks ready for a break.

She sits down heavily, 

takes a breath, 

throws her head and shoulders back,

closes her eyes and basks in 

the September sunlight.

Meanwhile the black lab 

circles the bench

tangling its leash 

around her legs,

before going behind her

and doing its doggy business.

The woman sighs, 

rises, untangles herself,

and harvests the dog poop 

into a blue plastic bag.

The dog, delighted, 

I’m guessing, that she’s up,

rolls over happily 

on the yellow grass,

kicking its four feet into the air.

Then they go on their way, 

the woman half-pulling 

half-pulled by her black beast, 

leash in one hand, 

bag of shit in the other.

I don’t own a dog, 

but I know the feeling…

~