A dog walked first —
thin, attentive —
then the couple behind it,
moving with that careful pace
people adopt
when there isn’t anywhere definite.
They weren’t asking for anything.
Just walking,
two small packs,
heat already settling on their shoulders.
Too young, I thought,
for that kind of fatigue.
The dog kept turning back
to check they were still there.
A small, loyal census.
There was a silence that settled about them
as they walked —
the man, the woman, the dog.
As they went by
the woman nodded.
Then they were part of the street again,
and I kept on,
staying where the pavement hasn’t given way.
