When we lived on Jones Street
I had the run of the place:
three older siblings at school
father with his long-hours job
mother looking after infant brother
grandmother (Ma) cooking,
              kept an eye out for me
              playing in the sandbox
and crazy Aunty rocking on the porch
              and wringing her hands;
in 1952 Paducah four-year-olds could 
              cross the street
              to get treats from old neighbors.

The wind was blowing, a storm was coming
the day mother dragged me inside and bolted the door…
someone had called about a mad dog.
We all looked out the front window
to see the big blond canine staggering,
frothing at the mouth, biting the air.
When the gunman came I went to the bedroom
and put a pillow over my head. The killing
was a mystery but the lightning and thunder
stayed with me.