“I hear a dog bark,
And comets in the dark,”
My daughter’s poem began –
But I thought she said comments,
Which made me think
Of summer nights on the farm with the windows open
And the sound of grownups talking
On the porch below the bedroom windows;
Stuffy, airless evenings.
Talk of dogs and horses:
“It’s called a hound, not a dog.”
Careful what you say –
Be sure of what you know or think you know.
To those who care,
Dog or hound makes all the difference.
Voices float, alighting on their marks,
Stinging while I fluff my sheet,
Listening to dogs bark,
And comments in the dark.