The Last Walk

Fives times a day,
I watch the old man walk his dog.
He is out there every few hours
hobbling down the block,
his potroast bulldog at his side.
Funny part of this
is that the man and the dog are
virtually indistinguishable.
They walk at the same pace with
the same labored limp.
They share the same look
and demeanor, and who knows,
they might even smell the same.
Once I tried to pet the mutt,
but I was met with sharp teeth
and gravelly growls
from man and dog both.
I often wonder,
how is it that dogs and people
can take on each other's traits?
When walking a dog,
a man can lose sight of himself
and become himself.
Perhaps these walks are
simply habit and utility.
Maybe they are a last piece of work
before leaving.
Every few hours the old man is out there,
walking into the wind,
looking for forgiveness.

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