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.

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3 Responses to Sleeping Dogs

  1. nochipa says:

    Oops, I put my comment for this on L’amoureux by mistake, but I like that one, too. very original!

    Nochipa

  2. Pris says:

    Love this poem! Thanks for directing me to your blog. I’ll add it to my links so I can find you. I should say I’m cutting waaay back on my computer time but like your work and will visit when I can.

  3. Scot says:

    Thanks Nochipa, I never really conveyed the meaning of this one..it never quite got out. Everyone reads it different.

    Pris
    Thanks for stopping by and i pray you are doing well.

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