Yellow Dog
With an owner unworthy, a yellow dog lives in this house.
I sat for hours and watched others enter and leave,
but none with a familiar face passed.
I try to hold my own ground, and not ring the doorbell.
Any meeting I imagine played itself out on more neutral ground.
Then again, maybe cornering someone in their own home
is the ultimate position of power.
But here I cannot help think myself a lost puppy
crawling back to its owner after getting lost.
Having someone beside would shift the focus -
take me out of the light I wish not endure.
In the end, the hardest battles are fought alone or with oneself.
My imagination floats away on the gentle spring breeze -
I ponder a plot to steal the yellow dog
and never returning to the crime scene.
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