yesterday

in sherwood park, our rough hewn hounds

pound past cossetted furbabies, jacketed

and lifted from the snow/ice/salt

when their tender paws grow weary

their humans wheel them home in strollers

they chuckle wryly, we burl on, both sides

too refined to strain at judgment’s leash.

today

on avenue of nations, i spy another stroller

blanketed, parked

outside the frontage advertising licences

compliances, and such. i slow, and that’s enough:

a woman, thickened by streetlife, cracks the door

‘there’s no baby in there.’

warning, defense, defiance of my camel coat

pashmina and well-heeled stride, and i feel it

flex again, that double-ended leash.