Sign on a telephone pole:
"Lost Dog, Mixed breed,
some kind of retriever and maybe spaniel.
Blue collar, shaggy black coat,
grizzled muzzle, ears long but not too long,
friendly but shy. Answers to Oswald.”
On my way to the bus I watch for him,
any sign of movement in the park or alleys
as I walk by. I wonder of Oswald,
what he was thinking, leaving
people who love him,
feed him kibble in a bowl on the floor
every day at four, give him his heart-worm pills,
clip his nails, brush his fur, share bites
of sandwich under the table.
To lose these things, Oswald must realize,
is the cost of freedom.
Later on the bus I notice an odd looking man
in an ill-fitting suit.
He has shaggy black hair, grizzled face.
The collar of his blue shirt buttoned to the chin.
His ears are long but not too long.
He has a friendly face..
"Oswald?" The man looks startled but doesn’t speak.
He turns away and sticks his head
out of the window, sniffing the air
with his large, sensitive nose.