Places to go, things to do,
        scurrying through a winless race,
        The alarm clock, the traffic: my stimulus.
        I know the drill; pay the attendant, park the car.
        I wait at the curb to cross the street,
        not using the crosswalk is my defiance to routine.

        I wait for the red light and turn to find I don't wait alone.
        Another subject seeming to salivate for the promise of a paycheck,
        yet he seems pre-occupied, impatient, rather than lulled by the day-in, day-out.
        "Late for something?", I ask, knowing I'll get no reply.
        Craning his neck past me, he looks to the left, eyes sharp and intense.
        Then looks right, checking for traffic, as if it's something he's been trained to do.

        First foot raises making him look like a pointer,
        Steps into the street- no wait, one more car- then across he goes.
        He trots to the median; I follow, sure he'll not pause there-
        but no, he waits, again checking left and right for obstruction.
        Satisfied with the lack of cars, he crosses the remaining distance to the opposite curb.
        I bask in my fascination, my day disrupted in a most unique way.

        For a stray dog living on the street, there is more purpose in his step than my own.