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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