Is your country at war?   I think mine is, wouldn’t bombing and killing others beyond one’s borders be part of the definition?   yet they call it an incursion, a targeted operation, a military exercise that has a video game feel pictures of crosshairs and explosions   with the indifferent aftermath of dusty bodies, smoking ruins and the wails of the living who knew the dead   perhaps it isn’t a war perhaps our president simply loves people bending knees, cowering to his viole

I’m no different than Oliver and Gracie   I hang around the house, sometimes the backyard stick my nose, sometimes, where it belongs, sometimes not   I calculate portions of food before they’re plated and naps have accelerated in length and frequency   yeah, amazing how the eyelids have gained weight over the years, can hardly hold themselves up   Joe and I, the alpha pair, let a lot of doggy behavior slide, the other dogs know we’re soft, lazy Alpha’s   we drape, and re-drap

they share four letters you know (I’ll wait till you confirm)   that brown house down the street exudes the friendliness of mud   another abode’s spread of gravel looks like lifeless clumps of dirt   at least that dusty Hershey’s wrapper held a few bites of chocolate delight   but then I see two gardener’s brown-eyed brown-skinned labor, yielding palm tree husks on burlap that match the color of the half-filled brown plastic can   I could cheat and include the beige of sand,