Bristle (the dog)
Unkempt brown
bristles,
rough brush
on stick legs
runs
haphazard, slinking some,
cowers
down, back shaking
in a cold
glimpse of rain.
Shudder.
Picture unperfect sun.
Ears down,
languid whimper out.
Alleys snake,
pancake walls,
water slithers,
trickles cold.
Bristle scavenges,
seeks pieces
lost, as
unwanted as himself,
wanders hungry,
skin-frame talking.
Sunset, he
trips the light crossing,
zebra path
to Paradise downhill;
his regular
bowl waits, queueless.
She strokes
his head, utters words,
leads him
to the shed out back,
slight drafted
solace from this night.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, February 24, 2021
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