12 June 2014

The dog house—the one no dogs use— has moved from there

to here.

 

I can see into the hole in the roof

hole the size of May hail

that crashed through this igloo-shaped dome. Some

years, the only ice we get comes in May

hurtling from heaven, the size of a softball.

 

I think the dogs are smarter the smart ones. They stopped

treading long ago where danger left damage.

 

It’s closer to the trash can now. Perhaps Polo pushed

the dog house while  Clover barked encouragement

both hoping I would finally take the hint.

 

We keep hoping the dogs will make this igloo-

shaped plastic their home, in this home where there is

no snow.

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