The Dog Throw
A dog barks.
Unseen.
Somewhere, over that way, close by.
First annoyance, then bafflement.
Then frantic.
As if leashed tight to a post, unable to move.
It is six or seven barks, a note of urgency in each one,
echoing the neighborhood, everything else, silent and still.
No birds soar.
No cat struts.
No rat slinks.
No wind sighs.
No child sings.
No dog answers back.
I almost lift tobacco to lip,when
A-half-bark-a-loud-retort-the-tiniest-beginning-of-a-yelp
gunshot
broken sound silence
that never begins and never ends and never is.
Within which ripples of Time replay and rebound.
And you wait an eternity tick for the future to hit.
And it comes,
a yell, a whoop,
a singularity of terror and pride
that in puddled blood wetly rides
Now I inhale the sacred smoke and sadly sigh.
Watch out for that one, he crossed the line.
He's frenzied now, he's lost, he's gone, forlorn.
A vulture roll, for someone, last throw, snake eyes.
How many unlucky throws get cried before he dies?
Another whispered plume ascends to ride the sky.
Maybe it's time, a walk to take.
I have a dollar, up the hill, a corner store.
A lottery ticket, a chance, a dream, a stake.
poor dog
That's how it is in my neighborhood.
What's it like in yours?
