Song in Gray July

I’m down on all fours
sniffing with the dust mice,
nesting in the cushions,
chewing through the mail.

And outside, fingering
the grass one broken blade
at a time: the work’s sticky
and takes all day.

I dream my son
has been shifted off to jail
for small infractions.
No one will feed his cat

or save his clothes.
And what’s the penalty
for falling out of rhythm?
Who crushed the juice
from this year?

Merrill Oliver Douglas studied in the writing program at Sarah Lawrence College, and she earned an MA in English from Binghamton University in 1982. Her most recent publications are in A Narrow Fellow, Connotation Press: An Online Artifact, Barrow Street and San Pedro River Review. She lives near Binghamton, N.Y., where she runs a freelance writing business.

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