Dog Days 2025
Art by Dana Ellyn, Trading Places (Disguised)
Dog, Drone, Sausage
“Rescuers lead a dog to safety by hanging a sausage from drone.”
—Tweet from @Reuters, Jan 21, 2022
Like clues to the day
when it will all go
to hell. You know
how tail wags dog, how
miscalculations, flare-ups,
and buttons to push
push us to the edge.
I’m lucky to be alive.
The tide was rising.
People came for me,
and from out of the sky
a string came down
with yum attached.
I did not drown,
but made it home.
They scratched my belly
and said, “Good boy. Good
boy. Who’s a good boy?”
Dog Story
Allez-oop, the master calls.
And Trix hops on hind
legs. Her steps are
jerky. Her forepaws
hang. She comes down
hard, takes the cord in
her jaws, rings a bell
to the crowd’s applause,
and eats her reward.
What wouldn’t she
do for sugar—or help
from a friend. The cat’s
the pal she’s talking to:
Sammy, my brain’s wrecked.
I sniff faces that spread
on the wall like mold.
What cats do
I wish I could do.
How do you sleep
when I am dying
for sleep? How do you
live without love?
My sister, my friend,
think of the warm south
where sand thins on the pavement,
and sea-grape trees shade the path.
There the fire ants toil all day long,
and white jasmine’s in flower.
Mon enfant, ma soeur,
go through the door you
never saw. Kazoom—
you’re in a country
where palm trees grow.
There on some
morning a woman
steps from the ocean.
and rakes back her hair. Her
lovely face is clear. What
a mutt, she laughs, and bends
to you on whose flanks
wisps of seaweed cling.
Dos gardenias para ti . . .
Te quiero, te adoro, mi vida . . .
she sings. Fingers deep
in fur, the lady scratches,
What a mess you are.
You’re not a fish, are you?
Me? A flipping fish? The
lady’s talking baby
talk. Some people do.
Leave a Reply