june is all about dogs
yours, and my cousin’s
and the ones we walk for a few worn dollars
the one that runs heavy and carries daisies back in his mouth
the tongue that wets and the sun that dries
my hands

the dog that wakes us in the morning, only for you to go back to sleep
all of us lying in the same sun, the hot bath poured in
your small window, over our legs which are gold
from 6:30 to 7:00

the dog and I wait for you to wake up and for the day
to get along

to clean the dirt tracked in from the front door in shapes
of paw prints and footprints before our parents get home
from the holiday weekend

weekday frisbee, spit and sweat
waiting turns to take showers in the one-bathroom house
we’ve lived in our whole lives 

me and Sammy sitting on the back porch
while my uncle mows the lawn
and we wait for the fresh smell
the dogs and me,
we are always waiting.