man, stick, black lab
by jim dolan

holding a long stick the man

steps through leaves like
piles of hardened flame the

black lab leaps gleefully his
pink flag tongue hangs

from his red mouth  white
teeth gleam   he knows

the stick will arc through
the sky  he'll run joyous to

fetch the long brown stick thrown
by the man in blue jeans and white

tennis shoes on a day warm and
windy   cold front blowing

in from the north   already you feel
little cold gusts and the last hard

pecan leaves go sailing sideways and
down while a black flock of sparrows flits

up into the grey sky    his tail curving up
over his back, the black lab roots

in piles of brown and red leaves for his
stick, the man waits for him to find it, he is

looking out to the west, he is lost
in his thoughts, his thoughts,

they seem to be elsewhere

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