I set aside the dystopian novel I’m reading
and gaze through the window glass
for external sustenance.
An immigrant turtledove, all fluid twitching
and watchful arrogance, lands
and stands central and as still as the paving.
Then preliminary scouting,
to ensure the dog is fly-wire encaged.
Assured, she feigns aimless feeding on morsels,
slouching, crab-like, towards the Holy Grail
(the dog’s water bowl,
warmly wasting in the summer shade).
Looking askance, she is astride the rim
in a movement denying intention
and dips deep into the yellow reservoir.
Her fill taken,
a hop, step and airborne skip
and she is gone.
I look up to see myself reflected in the glass,
an educated man.