Sue Ellis

A spotted pup sprawls across my lap,
composed but alert,
listening for the scuff of a shoe on pavement,
signal to spring up—
to wriggle madly against the car window,
greedily seeking the attention of a stranger.

Someone, perhaps, who´ll transport her aloft
to nest with the birds,
or produce, from the depths of a dry coat pocket,
a succulent bite of fried chicken, still warm,
and dripping with pan gravy.