dog

Vidalia in his pocket, Frank Leigh Deary walks on down the Lost Highway. If the dust weren't so thick, he'd hum. But the Highway's full of dust today. His mother would have said, today is
dry as an old bone buried in the junkyard.
It is a dog day.

Frank Leigh Deary daydreams harmonicas, wiggles
his fingers over imagined gap-toothed instruments,
wishes for a partner with a ukelele.