Sometimes I see a dog, or
An alley mural of a steam locomotive,
And it’s as if you were walking beside me.
Today, there were two dogs,
Sitting in a large, mesh-covered white cart
Pulled by a bicycle—
One large bike/cart contraption
that the ruddy man in the painter’s cap
said he modified.
I watched, drinking my usual latte, on a wooden bench
Next to you, drinking your customary double espresso.
We admired the two black labs,
Then looking across the tree-lined street of shops
Were puzzled that a huge black locomotive
And its billows of puffing smoke
Had been painted on the long wall of an alley
Leading to a street of trendy boutiques and restaurants.
We finished; we stood.
I leaned on my new cane;
You steadied yourself
With your arm that was not in a sling.
You said something you rarely can say:
“It’s not too humid to breathe today”.
And then you disappeared.