the chesapeake farm

somewhere in michigan

lie the chesapeake farm

where legions

of brown waxy dogs

bred for their noses and barrel

chest ice-breakers

march over small

fields of mud as

stagnant white fluff

settles to harden its shape.

flurries of armies sound

their barks and barbarisms

at passers-by

shielded by wire fencing

shining in the reflection

of icicles hanging from

the front porch which

drip downward at daybreak.

i have cycled through

four-legged soldiers

each serving me well

but return to these barracks

each spring.