She’s walking the skittish dog.
I ask about her husband.
The surgeon says they got it all.
We hope so. He’s tired right now.
We both look down at the sidewalk,
stand quiet for a minute.
But today’s the dog’s birthday, she says.
So I’m taking her out for ice cream.
To celebrate. We’ll bring him some too,
in case he can eat a little.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 