Poem

Dusty August

Grandma would scrape
Coffee grounds
Mixed with egg shells
To those tick-filled dogs
Lady and Poochy,
Licking
The blue plate clean.
Dad would later corner
One of the dogs; inhale
On his homemade cigarette
And burn those blood gorged
Ticks into a hiss of summer heat.
The ritual would end
When the butt was extinguished
Under foot and the unfortunate
Dog scurried out of a grasp
Never sure why
Or if such abuse were necessary.