The sun dips behind a silhouette of the apartments.
by Theresa Ann Moore
There are no honking horns or screeching brakes.
Clipping a short leash to Brownie’s choke chain,
he anxiously jumps up and down.
His slobbery mouth licks joy upon my cheek.
With a backhand sweep, I wipe off his eagerness.
Tugging, he leads the way,
treading across freshly mowed grass.
As a dead-end sign appears, we find peaceful quiet.
A shinny red, Mustang is parked by a soapy puddle,
at the end of a black topped drive.
Brownie is attracted, as though the pool is gravy.
A firm tug stops him short…with a turn of his head,
begging brown eyes question.
The smell of delicious steaks grilling, sends a mouthwatering invitation. Spirals of smoke drift over the tall privacy fence.
Cool, heavy drops of rain begin to graze my glasses.
With tennis shoes dampening and dog fur flattening,
we run home as though being chased by growling tigers.
Our house looms straight ahead,
We race up the rain-spattered steps.
Drenched to the skin, I kick off my sopping shoes.
Brownie shakes his rubbery body from back to front,
sending doggie scented droplets scattering everywhere.
Opening the door, the leash is dropped.
Brownie gallops to the kitchen,
his long untrimmed nails tapping with quick cadence,
upon the linoleum-tiled floor.
He sniffs his food dish enthusiastically,
his appetite is restored.