Wednesday, February 26, 2014


The dogs are looking fatter these days
softer hearts might wonder where those firm, furry bellies
find enough to stretch the skin taught
there's no heels of bread to scrounge since the baker took ill
no urchins slipping spare treats into warm sloppy grateful mouths
since all the urchins went to sleep
the butcher's door was bolted weeks ago
but the dogs never seem to want for bones to worry

They watch the corpse carts with glassy eyes
fallen masters receive no hound's loyalty when
the baker and the butcher ceased their labors so long ago
the doctors and mercy givers haven't the spirit left
to banish the lupine beggars
their raids remain unrouted
and their bellies grow fuller
as the streets grow emptier

Sometimes all that keeps me going
is the thought that there will be no god damned dogs
anywhere to be found on the streets of Ostrapalis
and for brief spells I think
nothing shall cure me more readily
than the promise
of a whole city devoid of the endless crunching chewing licking
treason that lurks in every blackened alley and shadowed stoop
of these afflicted towns

Please just tell me
they don't let dogs in that hallowed city