Dog Days / by Brian Kunde

Dog Days
by Brian Kunde

Often, in the lazy fall,
the dog days drag in;
lank, limp and leaden
from the tempestuous chase
of the changing seasons;
puff-panting their hot breaths
down their dripping tongues
as they gaze longingly
towards winter, and relief.
This year, though, the dogs
have arrived too early:
They’re all turned around;
preceding, not succeeding,
the placid period of summer.
Their own heat, possibly,
has damaged their doggy brains,
confounding and confusing them
into coming here before
they could be coming;
certainly before they should.

Perhaps they were pursuing
the cat days of spring,
that toppled torrentially
down the heavy clouds,
clawing the air in protest
and leaving wet streaks
to mark their steep descent.
Grounded, their paws danced
lightly atop the puddles,
as they gathered strength
to spring aloft once more
into the bright spring sun.
When the dog days arrived
those cool cats were gone;
vanished; evaporated.
The pursuit fruitless,
the dog days panted.

What will you do now,
calendrical canines?
Summer simmers dead ahead,
long, warm and weary,
in wait between you
and your wonted season.
What days shall be coming
when yours should be coming?
What, then, are you becoming?
Do you devolve down to rats,
small, sizzling terrors
for newer, fiercer dog days,
to tear, terrier-like;
to rend and devour?
Or do you slowly diminish
with each hot, wet pant,
melting mournfully away
until nothing is left
but a doggy dew?

Save yourselves!
Take a long stretch
before that long stretch!
Bestir yourselves;
bound back behind
Heaven’s blazing beacon,
catch your cats,
and be gone!

* * * * *

Dog Days

Originally published in
SUL News Notes, Vol. 5, no. 17, May 3, 1996.

1st web edition posted 7/29/2008.
This page last updated 11/26/2013.