BAND OF BROTHERS
For Dallas and Reno
after Bre Crowell’s “Dog Days on Sullivans Island”
They were a twosome of trouble,
canine equivalents to Frank
and Jesse James. Confederate
bushwhackers, robbery their game.
Your trash can, their stagecoach; your child’s
lunch box, their bank safe; your barbecue,
their savings and loan. Every tree
within twenty square miles, devoid
of bark four feet up; every rotten
stump snuffled, plundered of edible
lichen and fungi; every bush
burgled of berries. In their golden
years, with jowls of an aristocrat
and increasingly arthritic hips,
they employed a driver to slowly
cruise them through the neighborhood,
noses twitching in unison
at the sight of a tomato plant,
recycle bin, lemonade stand.
Outlaws, unfailingly loyal,
bound by blood, driven by sustenance.