Fresh Blue Roof

The dog pulled hard, nose to the ground.

My feet found concrete, no sound.

Then, the blue.

A roof, a perfect triangle, a house new.

Someone's careful hand,

a child's idea of a plan.

Walls squared off, a thick white door.

It sat there, just above the dirty pour

of sidewalk cracks.

That blue was vibrant, almost wet, a stain.

It wouldn't last, not through the rain.

But for a moment, underfoot,

a fragile presence, taking root.