Red Renegade, a raggedy old dog

dark red collar and a look of dread

at my hands, he ducks around the corner

dust rolls in and a man

shaggy dog barely approaching

salty in the silk afternoon light

the summer poplars and ginkos line away from the road

in this dry dirt parking lot

there is love lurking

the men in their cars and trucks

hedge trimmers, spotted painters

the sky is in change and the dog

comes back to sniff these handsome

poets with their late day lunches

in my own walking of the lot

I see a metal razor in the ground

and look back and it is gone, disappeared

into the cooling darkening air

I wish id caught it, saved a foot

I’m just looking back, now the moon pronounces

blue dog of what working mans dirt

the sun paints now spotted blue all over

problems by the barrel sits

dog runs by bush and in between

reminds me of a farmhouse dog

who doesn’t worry, or burry the things

just borderline dog cautious of the cars

busy, busted, behoot and besmoofed dog

busy with sticks, car keys,

whatever a dog fetches these days

is backward bound

the dog, soil to its hands

bedewed before any yellow morning

rolling around in the parking lot

buoyant puddles filling his paw prints

here am I to the dog

abreasted without getting up

a bygone, some wind crackles at the barrel boards

two of us, making the sure case

a pretty picture

me and this dog could be covered

in our outlaw state

in a bright blue paint.