The dog examines,
with a quizzical stare,
the shoes the man is putting on.
A wavelength of pigment passes the retina;
the shoe is brown and the smell of polish
computes in her brain,
she allows her tail a hopeful thump.
In the room where food happens,
is the smell of greaseproof paper
around an office sandwich,
not of fried eggs
and grass-stained sneakers.
She lifts her head
to receive the hand that passes over
inside which she understands the sound
she soon will hear:
©Cindy Taylor 2009
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