Pareidolia

There is a dog, crouched by the side
of the road, defecating, copiously.
Heedless of those who wide-eyed watch
tapered fingers pointing
fisted palms of passersby close
off any sense of smell,  
the mutt maintains.
Its red-rimmed flesh 
stretched sizably, accommodating
each heavy deposit, an offering
for diffident hands to collect
- or not. All that’s left behind,
reminds me of you.

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Deep in the Northern Michigan wilderness, Maggie Walcott lives with her family in a house they built themselves. Her pieces have been published in Mothers Always Write, The Dunes Review, Last Leaves Magazine, The Dillydoun Review, and most recently, Every Day Fiction. 

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