Whistle for the Dog
by Jeff Jeppesen
Eggshell blue cloudless sky,
a walk across an empty field of yellow
summer grass
(poets must walk across fields every chance they get
it’s in the contract),
I come across a little blue flag
on a wire stem whipping
in the breezes.
My sneakers are damp
the spotted dog is a hundred yards off snuffing up good smells.
He knows what he’s doing.
With just a little bit of effort
I can pretend not to hear the sounds of the road
beyond the rise. If I keep looking down
at the tiny pink flowers
I will never see the jet contrails in the high air
leading to and from the military base a few miles away.
I’m pretty sure I know what the flag is doing here
but I want to forget about that
and wonder what it really means, man,
out here in this big old empty field
of yellow summer grass.
Because soon it will be time to whistle for the dog
find the car and drive home.
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