Into drizzle the dogs
are put out hooting,
to squat on the flagstones, blue
flowers shut down
hours ago, so no one
gives a damn for their song,
not wives & husbands
swallowing those last puffs, slumped
between sofas' arms,
not kids bunked, peachy-
skinned plates stacked in cupboards, they'll
crash down dreaming, but
the TV's a gas flame,
Chrissakes it sputters the same way
bug-lights fry bugs, &
something's gone wrong,
dogs pant foaming,
gargling their coarse slang,
licking at broth
from the sky. Then yellow lights
are cut off. But
no one has switched
the tube's knob, the idiot
box keeps cooking
airwaves like the sky's cooking.
Gadzooks! dogs shout, look
out, air's boiling over!
Jack Hayes
© 2010
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