Doug Paul Case

Landscape with Constipated Pug

There is always the one
unexpected ugliness, the double

take, the disbelief between
the rose bushes squatting
in what looks like pain keenly

experienced while the wind
and the dragonflies go on

making this night what it is.
How we pulse in the settling darkness.
Lord, I’ve forgotten my camera.

Haven’t we neglected enough
melancholy scenes disrupted

by the anticipation of shit?
I want to rub his little belly.
I want to pull up a lawn chair, red,

and wait for the inevitable.
Let a firefly land on my nose

and skit to the top of the young
trees, just taller than the dog’s
mustached owner, gazing up

in awe and stifled impatience.
Orion is bright early.