Two Irish Setters
Stopping
at a red traffic light,
they stare at me
from the back window
of the car in front,
jowl to jowl,
a twinned pair of eyes,
and trundled ears.
Their breath
atomizes on the glass
and their tongues
hang out like
rubber eels. They
know more than
they show in their
unblinking
stare and
the way, when
their tongues
are retracted, they
assume the
mantel-chinned
bearing of two
bronze-aged busts.
Although some
lack the dignity of
their breed, these
two hold their
own as jurors
in a jury box,
weighing the
evidence of
what passes
behind them.
Then, at the change
of lights, in complete
agreement, they
give their verdict
and with a heavy-
lidded sigh,
simultaneously
close their eyes.