Sleeping Dogs

Back when T. V. was black and
white. Test patterns–
still frame westerns of
Tonto profiled on a target.
Back when Ol’ Yeller died
every time, never changed.
Saturday afternoons,
Lassie came home to
lick Timmy’s face,
it didn’t matter.

Saturday afternoons
young boys cried…
Before Nam when Combat
made us backyard
soldiers,
killing krauts.
Red-faced boys
behind evergreens,
ratatat-tat.
“You’re dead”.
am not.

Back when Aunt Bea
made cherry cobbler
and Pa took Opie
fishin’ at Miller’s
Lake; skipping
rocks that rippled
out to sleeping
dogs on Saturday
afternoons
when young boys
cried,
wiped tears before
Dads could see.