Monday, July 04, 2011

To no served purpose

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Dog Days

Be curious with a courtesy, uncurtailed by
whatever might curl in a curve on the porch,
a neighbor’s dog, perhaps, gone missing for
a nap, a cursive wagging of her name in taps
against the wooden deck where your aimless
rocking might lull a beast to sleep the sun past
panting and a sweated glass of iced melonade.

A bowl of fresh water, then, set beside for her
awaken that she might find your company suitable,
her place misladen, a half-drowsed lapping before
nosing her way home undiminished for having
spent a dogged hour at your feet, a rifle propped
to no served purpose against the doorframe, the
wife inside simmering something kettle black
that rouses the slumbered hunger within us all.

These are the dog days we spend like chicory,
trading with hill folk and mountain men who
tag along with setters and pointers, heelers
and scouters scumbling terrain we’ll never
see but through our own eyes, eyes made
useless as summer cicadas drawing bows
across a raucous cacophony, crickets that
tear holes across the chalky night, the barks
that alert us that everything approaches.

Joseph Gallo
July 4, 2011


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3 Comments:

Blogger Unknown parried...

Angels unawares
all small moments prayers.

July 04, 2011 11:27 PM  
Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

Just tried to find this little comment you made online and nothing. So it must be another pearly Kylism. Very nice.

Now why didn't I just write that and post it? All the bother I went through yesterday morning in 12-minutes might have been well-saved. ;-)

July 05, 2011 9:08 AM  
Blogger Unknown parried...

Yep, I was feeling enigmatic, driven to be succinct. Dog Days is very cool, clearly spiritual.

July 05, 2011 9:27 AM  

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