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.
