Cal Anderson

The whippet wearing a yellow raincoat
bobs like a broken see-saw 'round
the grassy dog park, delighted by 
the ball that goes and goes and goes
just for him. I watch the whippet run 
while the whip cold wind paints 
my face red with a hiss and a bang.  
Behind the bench a crowd of 
hop-hornbeams sleep for spring, even
as the blue breaks through above. 
Meanwhile the skateboard teens do tricks 
with a lazy vengeance. I stand and turn
towards home wondering, could I be happier 
wearing a yellow raincoat.