Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Dog Days of Summer

A white feather drifts down to settle
On sleeping dog's white fur
I follow it down
See a waylayed cash register receipt
Tucked white beneath his paw
Tally of pencils, pants and portfolios
He little knows it soon means days
Jack-rabbit-started then barking fury abandoned at eight
Backpacks, lunchbags duly packed, slung, carried
Through the white woodwork frame of our door.
He sleeps, unworried, eyes rolling back
White in their cradles
Whimpering dreams of herding sheep
On hills still green from spring rains
Tomorrow school still waits
While his children throw balls
Blow clouds of white dandelion stars
Play shoutingly in the sprinkler on these
Last white-hot days of August.

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