The Same Dog

 I listen to the same dog

every night though I never

see it in the light. Neighbors

deny it’s theirs or even

hearing it. You know, I say, mostly

after sundown, sometimes early

morning? Part growl, part bark?

No, they say, no idea what you’re

talking about. Animal control

no longer responds.

 

On calm evenings, it seems

a distant howl. In the storm,

I hear its whine right under

my window between crashes

of thunder. Nights aren’t sleepless but

I dream of nails pounding

in irregular rhythms, horns

on beasts that shouldn’t

have horns, tails on people

who shouldn’t have tails. Eyes

everywhere.

 

Then one night (around mid-summer

when it never really gets dark, the light

only dims and simmers): the barking,

the growling, a whimper, silence.

Southern Poetry Review, Issue 63.1 — Summer 2025