October’s crisp wind and golden sun
long held hostage far into November
finally made release, fled detention
and Fuzz drags me up Chevelle Drive
for our daily inspection of Redneckville
joyful in his visions of scent pursuit,
seeing things I can’t even imagine, while
I chase just one untainted glimpse of bliss
passed Grand Prix Blvd onto Bonneville
and a beer-bellied neighbor pretends not
to see us. “Great day!” I holler, loudly,
eliciting a Sam Elliot limp like wave as he
poses before a flittering Trumpbo banner.
Suns’ warmth pulls us further up the hill
through ditch’s trash and desiccate weeds
expanding our collection of beggar’s lice
and across from Really-loud-Mustang guys
a cast off bag of Cuties, over-ripe delights,
and I stand and peel and devour, for show.
Fuzz in ecstasy jerks my leash to go and
I clutching my rescued Cuties relent and
grudgingly we retrace our happy steps the
breeze hard against our backs, bittersweet,
pushing me to end my brief get away and
I pray, well, just hope, I don’t really pray,
she did not forget and get up and fall. Yea!
She’s fine reclining in her chair, alert buzzer
not screaming, competing with the Bee Gees
Jive Talkin‘ for the umpteenth time and
“Hun, the nursing home called three times;
I forgot how to answer the damn phone!”
I always take the phone. Why not today?