Sunday Morning

redbone hound
sleeps soundly
on the front porch
stretched out taking
in the morning sun
of the next hunt

you are in the house
frying bacon
making scratch biscuits
maple flavor
drifts through
the open window
you sing Streisand
it sounds good
paired against
these Ozark hills
almost spiritual
bringing culture
to this holler.

blue car stops
in driveway
jehovah’s witness
steps out
begins the conversation
Ol’ Buster raises up
barks slightly
looks him straight
in the eye
and begins
licking his balls
like any good
would do
on a perfect
Sunday morning.

6 Responses to Sunday Morning

  1. Paul says:

    Living snapshot with beautiful control over the sense, the setting, the narrative voice, woof

  2. jo says:

    Laughing, very good.

  3. David Rheins says:

    greeting god’s messengers with a lick of his genitals
    old hound dog learned a thing or two over his many hunts


  4. Scot says:

    woof indeed!

  5. Scot says:

    The first time I couldn’t read it with a straight face.

  6. Scot says:

    Thanks David–good to see you back. I read a poem of yours, but didn’t figure out how to leave a comment–good work!

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