Before I reach Main Street,
I pass our small apartment building.
Mrs. Hershkowitz, my neighbor,
leans out of her third-story window.
ETAN! she calls, can you bring me
some roast beef from the deli?
I look up as I run past, and nod,
but she can’t see me well enough.
I have to speak, so she can hear me.
I take a deep breath and say, Okay.
WHAT? she yells, so I give her a thumbs-up.
THANK YOU, she yells, and goes inside,
and just then I see
the tufted white fur,
the bandit face of her dog,
standing at the window, tongue flying
in a wide doggy smile.