This is a story
about a battered dog
rescued by a broken
man. The man dabbed gently
that morning
at the cuts
made with something
unimaginable.
He fed the dog warm milk
and let him suckle
his finger all day, the broken one.
They slept on the bed
in his room.
A hotel room
but not the nice kind.
No dogs allowed
but the man snuck him in
and the dog kept
the secret, stayed
quiet even when the man
one of the drunk nights
accidentally stepped
on his belly.
One day
a cold day
they found him
somebody ratted them out.
The man cried old tears that belonged
to old hurts
and the dog licked them up
like honey.
A roof is a roof
he told the dog
the next day
drunk early this time.
Off you go,
buddy.
But the dog wouldn’t leave
and he didn’t stay quiet either
he howled.
The man shut his door
shut up
shut up
he opened another bottle and beat
the day into darkness.
The dog is still around
it’s been years
the man is gone
or dead
but the dog waits for him
every day
unbreakable belief
he will come back
for him.
I see the dog
on the streets
of this bruised part of town
where the gutters run with whiskey
and blood.
His eyes are wet and kind
they say:
wherever you are
my friend
come soon
there is nothing
to forgive.