A STRAY AUGUST AFTERNOON

Dog-day, hard-peddling,

with its herd of clouds

browsing on distant hills

and its air-conditioned traffic

shuttling through a vacant loom.

The dog-star climbs to join the sun.

The dog-watch is over,

the bright coolness has wilted

with the dog-roses on the waste land

now hipped on their briers

a dog’s age ago,

and the isobars’ buttocks squeeze out the air.

A plump midriff heaves its taut sail

against the coercion of an elastic band,

is blown down the street

in the wake of a straining terrier,

the trainers tacking round buoys of excrement,

the paws not altering course,

advancing doggedly

while Sirius climbs to join the sun