I saw him walking <br />down the street <br />dragging dead dog <br />behind him. <br />As he saw me <br />he stopped. <br />“Dog dead” he said, <br />pointing at carcass in tow. <br />A noose around its neck, <br />entrails exposed, <br />dead tongue awry, <br />lifeless eyes <br />covered with <br />thin film of dust <br />staring <br />at rising globe of fire <br />in disbelief. <br />“It happens” I replied. <br />He sat down, <br />I lit a cigarette, <br />offered him one. <br />“Dog dead” <br />he said again; <br />giving me another <br />chance to marvel <br />at his God like <br />insight. <br />“Your dog? ” <br />I enquirered, <br />though not <br />really caring. <br />“dog dead” <br />he answered, <br />grinning. <br />“ I take away” <br />I let it slip. <br />Got up, <br />tipped my hat, <br />wished him <br />“a nice day” <br /> <br />As life <br />somehow <br />kept on <br />happening <br />there <br />and elsewhere: <br />headstrong, <br />head on, <br />I dove <br />into the sun <br />lit streets.<br /><br />Carsten Thomsen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-dog/
