Walking down the hill
in the morning
to catch a bus
I wonder what it's like
to live in those dark huts
full of smoke and grime and generations past.
Each has a roof
guarded by ancient clay dogs
carefully watching me pass
on my way
to somewhere newer
than the day before.
Hardened by sunlight, rain and years of neglect
the loyal pair stands
forever on guard
against strangers and spirits
wanting to stay
longer than expected.
An unwanted intruder
I quickly shuffle by
the invisible past they protect
with fierce growls and fiery eyes
wondering if their master,
will ever get to pet them.
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