Saturday, August 27, 2022

1100. Dog Weather - Stephen Dunn


Earlier, everyone was in knee boots, collars up.

The paper boy’s papers came apart

in the wind.


Now, nothing human moving.

Just a black squirrel fidgeting like Bogart

in The Caine Mutiny 


My breath chalks the window,

gives me away to myself.


I like the intelligibility of old songs.

I prefer yesterday.


Cars pass, the asphalt’s on its back

smudged with skid. It’s potholed

and cracked; it’s no damn good.


Anyone out without the excuse of a dog

should be handcuffed

and searched for loneliness.


My hair is thinning.

I feel like tossing the wind a stick.


The promised snow has arrived,

heavy wet.

I remember the blizzard of…

People I don’t want to be

speak like that


I close my eyes and one

of my many unborn sons

makes a snowball

and lofts it at an unborn friend.


They’ve sent me an AAHP card.

I’m on their list.


I can be discounted now almost anywhere.

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