Morning in a Dog Park

Sounds of



nail guns,

skill saws,


Leafless oaks and tall Doug firs.

Bark chips, grass and dirt.

A few fresh molehills,

bane of the suburban homeowner

and his manicured, poisoned lawn.

Molehills make me happy.

It means the underground

is working in harmony as it should.

Not so much above.

A sunny morning at the dog park.

Elmer the husky and I are alone.

He runs around.

I write this from atop

a peeling picnic table.

We missed the crazy husky woman.

We wait for Storm and Old Blue,

and Shadow,

whose owner says I look like Colin Farrell,

so that’s what she’s going to call me

because she can never remember names.

Colin Farrell!

Could be worse:

Yosemite Sam

or Gilligan.