The doghouse – April 2024

Awakened in a troubling grime,
the morning crawls out of the doghouse
to confront its own ragged, plastic self.
It whinges, squeaks, shudders
and slumps back inside,
packed in with the other.

Their mammalian hides
side by side - crystalline.
In heavy wimpers
one expands while the other contracts.
Both frightened
by the heightened sense that lasts
dew-dampened before the fall
of noon’s eventual descent.