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At the Crossroads
At the busy junction near my house
I espy the bitch – that mutt
Who used to be the clandestine lover
Of my Tommy, gone, two years hence.
She was never a pretty dog, black and mangy
Her swollen teats sweeping the street
Her rough coat coated with dirt –
Yet - she was my Tommy’s lover.
The dog has turned quite old –
She limps and is skinny
Her face has turned grey
And fur fallen off in patches.
I wonder if anybody would miss her
When she dies, sick, starved or a roadkill.
It is midday; I wipe my bald head
I limp; my knees hurt lately