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Dog on the Tracks
You always know the ones
that grew up wild from the ones
hand-raised and beloved:
that swift look
of unguarded hope they throw you
and the tail: brief flurry of a wave
ears gone twitchy for a voice
that used to summon them home.
Then the slump into despair
tail tucked, ears flattened
and the dog slinks off
just another stray after all.
The wild ones bluster by,
oh lucky bunch of bastards:
never tasting the meat of hope
they do not gnaw the bones of despair.
Sharp-eyed and wired for garbage
they tumble through the railyards
one haphazard blissful day at at time.
I could learn something from them
those irreverent hounds.
I command myself
to forget you — or if not
then at least howl in anger
but my dumb beast of a heart
stares ever down the tracks
wagging its arrhythmic tail.
Photo by Ruben Mishchuk on Unsplash
