Union Square

I had the impression she was new at this. It was

a windy, drizzly day, her hair had turned to a

muddy grey. I could hear the rattle of the kibble

as she dribbled some into a pan. Her four-legged

friend who, at one time he had been able to defend,

now limped to her side and eyed the bowl.

As the wind whipped, she unzipped a little bag

 and took out a well- worn shawl that she draped

over her friend, making sure it snuggled as tightly

as she could. Then she began to sing softly and

proffered a pan in an outstretched hand.  And waited.

And waited for some hurried shopper to stop and

acknowledge that an old lady, approaching eighty,

needed a hand for her and her shivering friend.