They spent the weekend in a suite 
at the new Omni Hotel, 
an anniversary gift from her parents, 
five years in already, 
and they’ve done pretty well, thank you. 
A few bumps, one or two nights 
he slept on the couch, 
but that’s to be expected, everyone says. 
No kids yet, but one day, one day. 

It wasn’t a nice night for a stroll,
storm clouds above while the wind 
toyed with a plastic water bottle
along the curb. At one point she saw
what might have been a rat
hugging the side of the Plasma Center
on Muhammad Ali,
but she had her husband’s strong arm to hold onto
and they would complete the circuit in good time, 
go back to a booth in the lounge,
put another round of cocktails on the room,
her parents were paying for everything.

The first fat, cold raindrops soaked into the sidewalk.
They picked up the pace and hurried along, 
turning the final corner, 
the hotel entrance just ahead, 
rushing past a legless man, jeans pinned 
below the knees, collecting his sign 
and metal can: the hollow clunking 
of few coins inside. 

The sound filled her with sadness,
and as she was spun through the revolving door, 
she felt aggravated at the man 
for raising those feelings
on her romantic weekend. 

She couldn’t have known his little dog Arthur, 
his near constant companion on this corner of sidewalk,
had recently died. 
Or that he was already looking to get another.

The missing legs gets sympathy, he’d of told her,
if she had stopped and gotten real. But it’s the pet 
that separates people from their money.