THE THANKSGIVING DOGS OF VERBENA, ALABAMA

Life, actually…

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THE THANKSGIVING DOGS OF VERBENA, ALABAMA

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Field of dogs.

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We’re in the deep countryside, walking in their domain,

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But they only welcome us

with tongues out and energetic pantings.

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These are fields any childhood would find a way to enjoy.

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Tall grass, fluffy dandelion wisps,

long cattails to use as gentle weapons.

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No alligators in sight.

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We trudge toward a drought-reduced pond

to see what was underwater, hidden for so long.

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The cool air matches the gray sky.

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The dried and crackling weeds match the cool air and the gray sky.

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We think about the century as if it holds some special

quality that previous and future centuries cannot hold.

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But the centuries are just made-up make-believe

centuries that change with each civilization’s editing.

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The crunch of dried plants under our invading soles

is the sound of the afternoon.

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The rustle of leaves brushing against the low-slung belly

of an amazingly short-legged dog is all we hear.

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The giggling of children waging wars with cattails is all we hear.

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No jets fly overhead,

or underfoot, for that matter.

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No interstate rumblings in the distance.

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Just giggles and crunchings and pitter patter of little dog paws and deep breaths taken down into tired citified lungs.

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We walk the feast off and live at the singular moment.

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The drive back to the city is a droning eventless monotone.

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Home free! is what we shout

when our feet touch our old wooden porch,

on the way to the safety of this particular century

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–Jim Reed © 2022 A.D.

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