Sunday, June 02, 2013

V. 2, #66: June 2, 2013

The dog next door is mean and muscular,
with bear-trap jaws and eyes as black as pitch,
disposed to barking jags crepuscular,
nocturnal, and diurnal. Not a bitch

in heat within a one-mile's radius
of our backyard puts pheromones on the breeze,
but this canine town crier has brayed to us
glad tidings of her imminent menses.

He prowls the bound'ry line like Cerberus
alert for souls escaped from Hades' flame.
Step through the patio door--he's there for us,
to growl and howl us back from whence we came.

He stands triumphant, confident he's won;
he can't know yet about the pellet gun.

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