At the Window

[Wrote this one a while ago.]

At the window I can see
that this is a good morning
to walk a dog.

Socks is rounding the corner,
high stepping it, his paws hopping
like popcorn in the pan.

And there's Buster and his
busy tail which regards no one
and no thing, whacking and
thumping up the sidewalk.

I wonder what their real names
are and if they just might be
the names my wife and I have
given them. We are dogless
and childless and nameless
for that.

I walk to the bathroom door
and ask if she's ready to
go yet, and then I'm back
at the window, watching
a dog I've never seen before,
a gaping mouth that curls
up at the corners, all teeth
and tongue and breath.

There goes Jester, I say to
myself and head over to the
front door when I hear the
roaring flush.