Release

I walked this morning to shut the dog up, the dog who whimpered as if her bladder might explode if I wrote or read another word.

But soon I found my back needed the release from the chair and my head needed release from the air in the tiny house. What was to be written needed to bounce around and grow a little inside my mind.

So Cleo and I took to our small circuit and observed a neighbor banging "For Rent" signs into the ground, a small girl too young for school and too old for constant supervision, the cold mailboxes not yet filled, and a Persian cat trying to escape Cleo before the dog even noticed it or the tree it climbed.

When we returned, I noticed Cleo had not her business, so I reminded her. She was content to chew on the clover before going inside.

I left the music
inside our warm, sunless house
to watch you not pee.