a hound barking will not make me flinch*

as frank o’hara would have it, i did this, i did that...
or as i would have it, i didn’t do this, and i’m sure
i didn’t do that,
but the beetroot red on the freshly ploughed fields
of brown were my reminder
as i sat on a pile of stones i stacked in the field
admiring the skyline...
how did this freshly ploughed field of brown
turn to beetroot red with the sunset?
never mind...
i got my wish...
petted a stranger’s rottweiler on my way home waltzing
a beer-can to an invisible maestro’s approval.