On Wednesdays at noon,
if the weather is good,
they test the tornado sirens,
and the dogs on the street behind me
join in, turning their howls
to harmonize, but the test
blasts through a solid minute,
longer than the dogs can
hold out without a breath,
and, one by one, their voices
drop our of the chorus;
but the siren, mechanical, controlled,
trails to silence when its time is up,
while the dogs, being dogs,
will still have their day.
Copyright 2018
T. Allen Culpepper
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