It was now an illegal event,
Rose and I on the “no dogs allowed” beach.
She had moves… I mean MOVES!
Cut and double back at full speed.
On the adjacent dogs permitted section,
Where once she was a prime mover,
And upwards of 10 miscreants
Gave chase to my darting black mutt,
There were only two of us, both aging.
My job was to keep watch for beach cops.
Her job was to feel the sand
That, instantly, sparked recall of an earlier time,
And demanded she jump and spin.
Rose was not as fast or graceful as in years passed.
Nor could she persist beyond two rotations
Of my watch’s minute hand.
Still, my heart would swell,
With each light stride that the beach demanded
As payment for her joyful presence.
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