A fenced yard is not fenced to the sky.
Branches drop. Dying birds drop; heavy, sudden,
the way an acorn, pointed-tip, plummets,
like a dead mouse from a screech-owl's grab.
Renegade balls vault from the schoolyard.
Sandwiches in Ziploc bags are reckless-tossed.
A random glove lands in a keep-away game of it's-not-mine.
Relishing the find, the dog covets all,
reluctant to release, ready to race. Retreat.
His jowls clamp full of something
you dig your fingers into before he swallows.
YOU ARE READING
Running with the Dog (Atty)
PoetryPerhaps it should read "walking" but that seldom happens. A series of dog poems in many forms: haiku, tanka, cinquain, haibun, pantoum, modern sonnet, sestina, free verse, glosa, and a rhyming poem.
