This Dog

This dog,

as still as a frozen dessert,

a screen door the only obstacle

between her

and that chipmunk,

squawking in a rhythmic riot.

 

She has caught two,

both dead within seconds,

perhaps longer in chipmunk time.

 

Mostly,

the chipmunks get away,

the ornamental border plants

at full density now.

 

After the chase,

with nothing to show,

she trots back to her blind,

appearing nonplussed,

maybe even content,

to have tried and not succeeded.

 

But she has the memory of a chipmunk,

held tight in her jaws:

it happened

and in each attempt,

the memory rides high and brilliant,

at the border line.

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