everything, almost, can be fixed

chris the mechanic says something
about six  months of gray but how
it isn’t so bad at his shop
because it’s bright
and warm
he also says everything, almost, can be fixed

the two dogs i read as yellow labs

greeting us up the road
one whose name jenafr gathers
is something that sounds like ruby
based on what the people at her house call her
thwapping her tail all around
and looking her cute face up
into mine
while we say hellos
and the other older more tentative one
who stays back but sees its safe
so comes in now and then
for a little pet before she
backs off again
the wind a hard force we walk into
hoping (though you never can be sure here)
it will be at our backs
on the return walk
how i align my steps
with jennifer’s, careful not to step on a heel
practicing drafting
it’s the corn i say
about the shorn fields
giving the wind its power
the poll volunteer
who remembers us and our bikes from last time
asking how we got here this time,
seeing the red on our cheeks and the
bundled layers
and how jenafr responds with
we walked – we exercised our right to voted
by exercising to vote
and for a short moment

we are famous
in a sea of others gathered
to cast a vote
juniper picking worms and slugs up
from the wet gravel road
and moving them
into the safe zone
where gravel road meets grass