Hope on a Leash

Gum tree roots 
cracked the pavement,
I saw my future
in the red bins 
lining the street;
a calendar of days,
repetitive filth.

Around Keppel Street
comes leaning Lycra;
a dog walker, 
and a miniature beast 
straining the leash.

And there it was, 
in the jig of the Maltese mutt,
something like hope;
vigilant eyes scouring,
catching movement,
gratefully glossing 
at even the lawn’s bowing blades.

And I see 
its trembling budded nose 
dip down to the wafting lavender.
Six times a week 
it welcomes the bush,
collecting the smell
whatever the shape of it,
never believing in always,
curious for each day.