Temporary Shadow

It stayed exactly four feet back

all the way from the pharmacy door.

A patchwork of ribs and a dusty track

of paws that have seen this pavement before.

There’s a yellow nylon rope around its throat,

frayed at the end where a hand should be.

It doesn't bark or look for a coat,

it just waits on the porch and watches me.

I have nothing to give but a bowl of tap water,

and a feeling of debt I can’t quite explain.

It sits like a son or a ghost or a daughter,

honest and hungry and caught in the rain.