Ferrying the Free
I head for town, a route I take to test my going.
The first mile, all I can get my gasping mind around
is getting done. Just as if somebody wanted it
to happen, just like that, suddenly I have a dog
beside me, soft brown, the color of dropped leaves,
a ramshackle kind of shamble to his run.
Half a spaniel he is, half something else. His shuffle
of a self gives me a sniff - allows as how he will tag along.
Soon enough, the mutt won’t leave me though I tell him
Get, now. Get. Though I know the leaving is sure
to be harder for us both later on. He must sense I am just
halfhearted with this exercising stuff, that I am the sort
of runner who can get him past the streets of hungry cars.
Already, he trusts me more than I can trust the traffic cop,
myself, the President who was. I leave him once,
as if I could, in a sprint, get thirty yards ahead.
He follows the breaths I have left behind, sniffs along
like he is Detective Dog. His goofus gait breaks
and regains himself ahead of me. He shuffles one side
then the other, lags to mark his path, overtakes me.
He leaves a little of himself on the hydrant, the tree, the bush,
traveling down the city street, letting me know what I
have lost, what he has to give. A worm of worry,
a hard joy, this ferrying a mile on his way, the free.