Follows

I said go home out loud—

not cruel, just clear—

and the dog looked up,

checked my face,

and kept walking.

Half a step behind me. Six blocks.

The collar worn, the kind

that's been on a while,

meaning someone had once decided:

this one belongs somewhere.

And then the dog had made

a different decision.

At the bus stop it sat down.

Watched the doors fold shut.

The bus took the corner

and it didn't bark,

didn't pace.

Just sat.

I thought about it all day—

the not being frantic,

the choosing to follow anyway

with no real leverage,

no argument.

I don't know what it goes home to.