I run the fringe miles, the Border Hound barked. Wired to root out the sheep gene No matter where it now lies In any point of the helix Thrown off of any shape or any fancy spliced package Carried on four legs or two, My nose is sensitive beyond wool Though they have hidden it well I do say I do say As I gutter rove As I border wide Nose low on remnant The flock has dispersed wide today, My shepherd said in his way his beard scratching way The herd must be found one by one by one and rebuilt bred back to a gentle grazing group You may roam beyond my whistle For things have come to this, dog. He set me out. I run the fringe miles I trace the asphalt trails of cities Curse false leads of Aberdeen dumpster test-tubes worn lab-coats in suburban trash cans When I find one It often pets me Or scratches behind my ears I do say I do say I was not bred for this.
E-mail Jennifer M. Boudreux at: jennmaine@prodigy.net
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