Puppy Vines

Walking a little dog on quite a short pier;

at every tug of her rugged leash, she cries her heart out

and tear-fed vines constrict our tattered ankles.

Kudzu-love can be bittersweet

and mother’s spittoon calls serenely.

It’d take a monster to drag that dog under,

so those green threads of fate squeeze our heels desperately

until one day that vineyard freezes over,

vin du Rhône stops flowing for you,

and that girl’s cabbage-head turns blue.