That dog

Nowhere to park tonight, the young white dog in the street is on the loose. 
Unclipped ears and shiny coat it looks for the softhearted.
I stumble to the front and stare, white young dog in the street.
It wants me to open the gate but I stubbed my toe on broken concrete.

Unclipped ears and shiny coat he looks for the softhearted.
The entire world’s gone sour. I feel only one thing.
It wants me to open the gate but I stubbed my toe on broken concrete. 
I smell ham; someone had ham.  Pineapple slice toothpicked to maple-glazed skin.

The entire world’s gone sour. I feel my toe.
Someone had fish for dinner, fried with the whiskers on, eyes white.
I smell ham; someone had ham. Pineapple slice toothpicked to maple gazed skin.
I ate leftover Thai takeout:  green curry, sweet ribs, black mushrooms with greens.

Someone had fish, fried with the whiskers on, eyes white.
I am not going to rescue a dog.  The neediness in every gesture. (Repelling!) 
I ate Thai takeout: green curry, sweet ribs, black mushrooms with greens.
I am watching a white dog study the street (what goes on in such a mind?).  


I am not going to rescue the dog.  The repelling neediness in every gesture. 
His paw print on my muddy sidewalk, he sticks his sniffing nose through chain link.
I am watching a white dog (what goes on in such a mind?).
You can’t come in. Go away, I say.
His paw print on my muddy sidewalk, there is no way I’m taking in a dog,
he sticks his sniffing nose through chain link.


Published in: Emily Dickinson Award Anthology, Finalist