Their short-legged dog is trembling.
It winds between our legs,
through the turnstiles of our love,
but no number of pats can sate,
no manner of stroking and talking
and looking into its brown eyes.
Hey, I feel the same, I sympathize.
Inside, I’m trembling too
at this gathering of semi-strangers–
don’t want to be noticed
yet don’t wish to be ignored.
We tremble together
on the porch
on a hot summer day.