Sunday Morning On Cameron Street
They run to the fence to bark at the same jogger
They see every morning.
She is long and shining so black beside his silver outline in this early light I squint
She pushes against him insistent. She loves him.
She is his shadow.
She would rather have the jogger stop
And pet her
I can hear it in her voice
The Bell hound she has become, “No
Wait come back. Pet me.” But she stays back letting him be in front.
She loves him. She is his shadow.
This is what he has taught her with so much pride,
This job he invented for himself when it was just the two of us lost and alone out here.
Now together across the frosted lawn their tails
Sway in unison
Like the Kit Cat clock in the kitchen where their
Bowls are. Where I watch them from the window
Without fail. That’s how they are with each other.
That’s how we are.