Dog Days (Caniculares Dies) Poem by Ernest Hilbert

Cerbero, il gran vermo

Sluggish flash at the tail end of August—
The humid air swaddles soft shocks,
Flickers like a light bulb about to blow.
A storm promises to clean streaked rust
From tin siding to soil. It won't be long.
You've walked him far from home and wait. Wind slows,
White strobes the horizon, a pause... thunder
Booms and spools like great stone cylinders rolled.
The stifling salt air melts to a thousand
Black flecks on pale concrete. Figures dash under
Cover as gray drops cascade pebbled cold.
Survey the varnished scene like some strange new land:
White steam curls up from glistening black tar.
Nothing changes in this heat, out this far.