Mutt Mix

Poor devil, dog six years on a tether

clipped to a cubby box.

The sun dropped into a slot

on one side & after a dark spell

popped up on the other.

Birds of a weather chattered along

wires overhead & the yards around

shrilled emergencies.

Who knew? Once upon afternoon

a dust demon spins itself up

in the master’s tumbleweed to his match scratch: puff:

mega blaze & four hours’

ruckus until doused out. I’ll bask

three days in wonders. I’ll slobber & yawn. I’ll gnaw

& grunt in my groin to my heart’s content.

They say death changes a body’s

mind about things.

Master shuts up & just rots.