On the hot cement sidewalks
Where the pitter patter of their paws
And the clinking of their nails
Creates a constant rhythm
Announcing “wer’re coming!”
The sun follows us, beats down
Oppressive and still
As if it were watching us
High up from space
And as we walk, time feels
Stretched like a rubber band.
Until our house comes into view
In the distance
And so does the end of our walk.
Fulmore
8