Thursday, February 24, 2011


He'd never named a dog.

Not a brown-gray brindle
or black-gray brindled
one was the dog
our Brownies

for stimulating memory
whenever we see a dog
with boy was not,
                             never was his...

My father was twelve, thirteen,
me - forty, maybe forty-five, when first we

threw his rock at the snake he missed
most of his childhood

and we saw to it, sometimes
                  - that day in the desert being one.

       That day we penny-pitched, the other.