Canine Collusion

(a found poem)

Ah, the evening air is alive with the song of canine species:

Howls, growls, yowls, bow-wows, bark, bark, barks . . .

and sleep is driven to the mountains or out to sea.

Some 52 million dogs reside in this country. And being

social animals, barking takes up a sizable portion of their lives.

Ah, the evening air is alive with the song of canine species.

The wiry Airendale commences, a chocolate Lab answers, alas all breeds

in between yap, yelp, ruff-ruff, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf

as silence shivers in the trees

and sleep is driven to the mountains or out to sea.

Behavioral psychologist B.F. Skinner reports the following:

“It’s impossible to stop dogs from exercising their vocal rights.”

Ah, the evening air is alive with the song of canine species.

One mutt, while guarding livestock,

barked for seven straight hours (at what? at what!).

A single Cocker Spaniel spit forth 907 yaps

in (perhaps, its last?) ten minutes time.

And sleep is driven to the mountains or out to sea.

Groggy neighbors spend their waking hours growling in litigation.

Beneath pressed-down pillows they dream

of Arsenic and Old Yeller again.

Ah, the evening air is alive with the song of canine species,

and sleep is driven to the mountains or out to sea.

--Tom Callinan