walking the dog

my dog is a jack russel
shitzu mix mongrel type
that walks like a cat
with its shoulder blades rotating
back and forth like a seesaw
or a pair of oil wells.

when she spots a rabbit
she completely forgets the whole concept
of walking and decides
it should now turn into a spasmodic
rant of barking and pulling
against the leash that keeps her grounded
otherwise she would fly
in the pursuit of bunny.

there is one moment
in the mornings when we
pass by a string of trees to the left
with feet and paws pressing on a gravel road
and i pretend i live in the northeast
mostly maine
out for an early stroll
before heading back to my desk
for a sunrise writing session
while the steam from my coffee
curls its way to the ceiling.

the carolers

call me sentimental
call me a softie
take away my man card
whatever
but standing in this crowd
surrounded by strangers
with smiles
watching the men
sing with eyes pressed
sing with eyes closed
and outstretched hands
as if trying to grab ahold of
something to steady them
with voices blended
their carols of christmas
echoed and filled the hallowed halls
and i turned when the song
was finished
i turned and walked away
because i just about couldn't take it
anymore
and i didn't want to lose my composure
in front of
anyone
especially
myself