...

.

.

.

There's a neighborhood dog 

that likes to skirt the edges

of a remote, 

little village. 

.

The village is old, 

sheltered; 

the people there 

enjoy the comforts 

.

that their isolations

have protected. 

.

.

.

I wonder, 

.

If you make yourself 

big enough, 

loud enough, 

uncomfortable enough, 

maybe he'll go away.

.

.

.

The cold sound 

.

of banging pots and pans

echoes

over the trickling serenity 

of cobbled, little chimneys. 

.

Neither the dog, nor the 

villagers, 

seemed as though they'd

enjoyed it. 

.

.

.