a lone dogwood hangs tired over Buster

as he takes cover from

what's left of this July swelter

he's too old to be out in it

but too loyal to be convinced otherwise

content to serve as aging sentry

over these broken down things

     this will likely be his final summer

there ain't no escaping the heat or the hollow

that rakes across me, inside and out

Becca's words do me no good

having drifted too far from mercy

so I do what I always do

watch the orange chase the blue

     the black cumber the orange

and when it's done

we'll amble around back

and muscle our way inside

     "come on, boy...  show's over"

                   show's over

                   July 9, 2006