I shake the leash
hoping the vibrations
loosen your bladder
I hold you
over a bush
beside a hydrant
and next to a tree
yet you refuse
We keep climbing
the hill
We reach the top,
our home entangled
in the ghetto
below, you decide
you’re ready and
let loose a stream
of neon yellow,
a small puddle
trickling along the
sidewalk
You’ve finished
but we stand here
The wind forcing
air into my
nostrils, your nose
perked up
Both searching for
our scent in the
city surrounding
the hill
by Ryan Hammond
Ryan Hammond is previously unpublished.
