the mutt / an observation with suppositions / from Essex Street

from the balcony looking downward

toward a little gathering place with park

benches in green paint placed in a circle

around a flagpole to promote patriotism

and a sense of congeniality; where close by,

a small vegetable garden struggles into Spring,––

a middle-aged woman is seen with her little mutt

who is fidgeting erratically on the grass at her feet.

as seen from a five story distance it occasionally

appears to be gagging, choked by its collar.

I imagine she bought the collar at the pet store when

the mutt was a pup and didn’t bother to make adjustments.

for the most part, the mutt seems to have adapted

to its situation; seems to feel the constriction

as an element of simply growing old; sees the reddening

tincture of everything around him as normal, and interprets

the discomforts as the way things are supposed to be,

convinced that this is the way mutts, like itself,.. transition.

the woman's non-attentive attitude toward the mutt

tells me she would rather be inside where her stuff is.

her daily shows are starting soon, and if Spencer

finally asks Delores to marry him while on their secret

vacation to Wine Country, and she misses the long awaited

proposal because of her "stupid little mutt," I fear she's going to

tighten-up to the next notch.

oy.

and I think the mutt’s name is “c’mon you.”

5/1/22