They have each other
and the Chocolate Lab.
They are family,

a nuclear community.
They touch others
in superficial community —

the neighborhood, the
protest rallies marching
with others and feeling

good in the moment and
then everyone goes their
own way, the church

community two thousand
miles away to which
they “belong” but don’t

really know anyone
and certainly don’t ever
attend social events

outside of worship for
the three months a year
they are there.

They walk the dog and
people admire the dog
and want to pet the dog

and then everyone stops
and chats and goes on.
That’s it for community.

They sit and ask each
other, “Did you ever
fit — high school,

college, this town with
its hyper conservative
religious and political

views?” “Nope.” “Work?”
“Sure, in a work
environment kind of

way. Once you retire
or change jobs, the
community is gone.”

“So, what is it exactly
that we have?”
“Each other.” With

that, the rescued Lab
jumps down from her
plush chair, sits between

the two, wags her tail
and then kisses each on
the hand. They look

at each other, smile,
wink and look out at
the blowing snow.