The lazy dog
beats time with his tail,
each dull thump of fur on floor
sends motes of dust
into the sun-shot afternoon heat.
He whines, a nasal yawn,
bears his yellowed teeth
and snaps his jaws
at the flies who plague his brindled hide.
He is old now, old and weary
with the years hanging heavy on four arthritic paws
and so, he dozes, with half-closed eyes,
his only movement
the slow baton of his tail
conducting an invisible orchestra
in common time.