Three Weeks

Three weeks of turning the corner

and there it is—ears forward,

waiting like it had been informed

of my schedule.

I never fed it.

Never called it anything but "hey."

It just learned my route

the way you learn a song by hearing it

on the same radio station,

in the same car, at the same hour.

Its eyes are focused in a way

mine haven't been in months.

Like it knows something about me

I'm still trying to figure out.

Sometimes I think about not going that way,

taking a different street,

just to see if it shows up anyway.

I never do.

I like the feeling of being followed

by something that chose to,

that doesn't know my name

and probably never will.