Ruby '81

July 4th, 1981
Candles of a Roman ilk
Unloaded from a Chevy truck
Into the home her folks had built
Patio was charcoals and extended fam in folding chairs
Safely arced around the yard to focus on the smoking flares
Couple cousins, uncles, aunts
Mostly grown-ups, couple brats
Baby Ruby’s only two, she’s too close to the jumping jacks
Mommy scoops her to the house, buckles up the booster seat
Rolls her to the storm door, let her long for all the lunacy
Telephone distracting Mom, Ruby wriggles out her strap
Fingers push the plexiglass, she’s off into the sour patch
Past the pyrotechnics, undetected and invisible
Woke the sleeping beagle skipping toward the kidney swimming pool
Off into the yawning blue, the splash would mum the rocket-ships
Ruby’s lungs were filling by the time her kin were cognizant
Many sprung and sprinted down, all arrive belated but
The beast she had earlier stirred had been alert since waking up
Canine let his gainer fly, water-top commotion grow
Howling guests assume the cloven hooves had come to do-si-do
Frenzied and congested deck, part to let the others see
Soggy beagle gently dragging Ruby in his yellow teeth
Laid the tiny body in the sun before her father‘s feet
When she choked the liquid through her bluish lips he dropped his knee
Help the air to reconvene, towel his shaking Ruby off
EMT confirm the save, everybody say «good dog!»