A dead dog

A bloated carcass
That smelt of a life
Her eyes wide open
Her lips
In pain;
She died over night
Even as she dragged herself
To the gates
Of one
Who she thought would make it all right?
I looked down
And saw her
Look back in reproach
Too late
She echoed
I waited and wailed
Whilst you dreamt
Too late
She said
And I have died
Because you loved me so!
And her burial
That I affected
Was perhaps
The most befitting
And symbolic
Of her life;
The man came in
On a call
Hefted her carcass into a bag
And threw it
Into a sewer canal
Ten miles away;
She had haunted my streets
For three years
Whilst I fed her
And the pups she kept breeding
My stern lectures
On family planning were ignored
As she primped herself
In front of the top dog
During season;
All it took
For her life
To be snuffed out
Were a group of cruel people
All it took
Were well aimed stones
And a sleeping me.
I wonder
If perhaps I should stop feeding them
These mongrels
That seem so wasted
But how do you turn them away
Knowing they have ten hungry pups
That need to be fed in turn?
I can still smell her
As I slave over the stove
Roasting the potatoes
And wonder
If potatoes that reeked of a dead dog’s scent
Would be treated
As an exotic flavour
In a cooking competition?
Rest in peace
Nameless one.


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