A Wish In The Wee Hours

If dogs could stand as small

as humans, and on their hind

legs, upright in a manner of speaking,

and if they could negotiate

the complexities of a phone

booth and had change,

or pockets for change,

and if you could still find

a functioning phone booth

in this godforsaken city,

I’d wish a lost dog would dial

my number entirely by accident

at four o’clock in the morning

and ask me to drive across

town to scratch its belly

and murmur consoling endearments

in the parking lot of a SuperAmerica.