Not Mine

Two weeks now, the same block,

the same hour, the same dog

coming from somewhere past the stop sign.

No tag. No hurry.

Last night it followed me all the way home.

Sat down on the stoop

under the porch light

and looked at the door.

I had my keys out.

We stayed like that a full minute—

me looking at the dog,

the dog not looking at me,

both of us just standing there

in the particular quiet of a porch at nine o'clock.

Not asking.

Not anything.

I went inside.

Stood in the hall

longer than I needed to,

listening for whatever sound

a dog makes when it decides

to leave.