Dog Days

August the Teenth, and hot;
Runs the riot of the rot.
In these septic days of summer
Sounds begin to simmer
And the tidal pools pour over.

Those curs, those mocking frogs,
Leap from beach to logs.
They scare away the sheep
& take away my sleep.
The sand begins to catch fire.

Fire is a hunter.
It is bound and out for Winter,
But going nowhere.
Canis Major stops amd stares
Into the sticky sun's glare.