At Large

I pretend fate is a dog. Not a Retriever. Nor is fate a working dog; fate has never worked a day in its life. And not a Shepherd or a Dobie. Fate doesn’t bark at mailmen or catch Frisbees.

Fate is a simple dog, bored, just wanders in, and leaves without a stir. Sometimes fate grunts, but doesn’t growl when I tenderly kick to see if it’s awake.

And because it’s a dog, it makes cocked faces when I ask it why, why?

So I put the bowl of water on the porch. In the morning it’s always gone.

Photo credit: Mark Strozier