We pass the woody creek
and run along down valley through
Then there's a hairpin curve and
long climb. We are excited.
The snarling dog
on the backseat noses the breeze
On the edge of the high desert,
and let him run.
The dog runs on and on, becomes a
speck in the far
distance, then loops back.
By the time it gets back it is
evening, and everything is already
Cocktails and coke had already been
done, and upstairs the telephone
When we first got there it was really
all friendly and cozy. Skiing
was often a pleasure. Later,
in the kitchen, drinks would be mixed
Then we'd all take our guns and
go riding around shooting
at the mountainsides. Now,
it's hard to remember
what all of that was like.
The dog's lost ten seconds off its
of several years ago. Illegal
explosions wake us
at all hours of the night.
Well-intentioned parties turn
into riots. Cats cannonball
through the house.
Nobody gives thought anymore to
sort of obligation. Bills
pile up on the kitchen counter.
Children's needs go unmet.
show up at the gate, and are sent
wants to use them. The dog
runs on and on.
© by Halvard Johnson