Early Bird Dog Training
July day walking Finn number two, headstrong
pup who makes my arm twitch with fatigue, the pronged
stick I tap for stress hot incentive to him.
Ten months now, he hears every bird the same.
His heart boils, and soon his tongue lolls sidewise.
I don’t know his limits, so leash his desire’s
worst, though he bucks and huffs and whines. Heel, heel,
I bark, acolytes metering a suburb’s field
until he’s caught by a goldfinch. Is this it?—wild
canary, butterfly yellow, that flits, scolds,
seaming the beaten path with beauty’s signal.
How bold, notes from a hidden branch that trembles!
Yet I can’t find the nesting tree, nor can dog,
who, unmoved by form, points not song but log. 
Allen Whicher’s Love Tale
Bourbon in a Cup
Early Bird Dog Training
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