How to Live in an American Town

I woke early to find the dog once again
sleeping alone in the front room.
He dreams what I dream: blue-eyed

children somehow mine, somehow
upright as the summer grass, taller than this rain.
I have never had a dream come true.

No, not true.
There was the one about you,

the one where the kitchen catches fire,
and you are the only one who knows
not to pour water on the flame.
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