Dogged

I hope this is good enough for the collection. Let me know what you think. I wanted two realities to be true in the poem. I wonder if I pulled it off?

A neighbor's dog charges toward me
as I take a walk along the gravelly edge
of a county highway. No, no, no.

I freeze. I'm afraid of large beasts
that can't be controlled by their owners.
The dog continues to hurtle, teeth bared.

No, no, no. The owner wears a look of
chagrin even though this has happened
twice before. I don't know what it is about me

that signals to the cur. The owner's bowlegs
are no match for the four-legged gallop.
I can hear keys jingle in his loose shorts

too far away to help. The hound's eyes bulge
liked boiled eggs, its ears flatten to the sides
of a brutish head. No, no, no. I step across

the white line, into the road. A car slows, stops.
I imagine my face is the color of my reflective
jacket. Can the driver see the open despair

of my mouth? No, no, no. What am I saying
no to? The sun is meant to shine on me
this morning. Not this powerlessness

again. Not this heart dread. The driver waves
me across to the other side of the road. I raise
my hand in thanks. I am meant to get air

in my lungs under a cloud-scudded sky,
away from incarcerated phone calls and texts.
The beast pauses at the road, enough that the

owner can grab its collar. I walk on the wrong
side of the road until I'm far enough away, until
my heart comes in for a landing. No, no, no.