He'd never named a dog.
Not a brown-gray brindle
or black-gray brindled
one was the dog
our Brownies
Kodak-ed
for stimulating memory
whenever we see a dog
with boy
...it 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.
