They tied the dogs to the chain-link fence
along the road. The short leash maddens them,
arcs them upright, necks yanking at the mesh.
“Won’t they let them in?”
“Put them all in a pit for bets.”
Cyclists and pedestrians maneuver,
further tangling the lanes. Dogs and cars
barter in horns and yelps. Onward,
the obstacle switched sides to a line of tents
pitched for mourners with coffee, cards,
and porridge. The dead, barely in their teens.
“Are those flowers from the mayor?”
“Why not together, in a single tent?”
“Weren’t they friends?” In the summer
they’ll spread rice over this same lane,
raking the grains evenly for the sun to dry.
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