You’ve trained me well, Steinbeck.
He hung his head out the passenger-side window,
ears tuned to another frequency.
I keep doing things just the way you like them.
I’m not sure this points
to anything remotely interesting
about either one of us – me or the dog.
It was at that moment, though,
when my hand reached out
and turned on the radio just in time
to hear a news story about a leopard,
who – even once the zoo had expanded
her habitat – kept pacing
the same confined space she always had,
until her footsteps were imprinted
in the concrete.
Back and forth we go, no architect
but ourselves to draft the blueprint
of what we believe, no handler but us
to feed or to starve the poisonous snakes
of habit and conditioning.
Governed by our minds, what are we
if not harbors for the ships
of impatience and delusion?
At this question, my companion
shot me a weary sidelong glance
before returning his head
to the ledge of the open window,
letting the world pass
through the filter of his senses.