Dog on the Tracks

You always know the ones
who grew up wild from the ones
who once belonged to someone:
that swift look
of unguarded hope they throw you
and the tail: brief flurry of a wave
ears gone twitchy for a voice
that used to summon them home.
Then the slump into despair
tail tucked, ears flattened
and the dog slinks off
just another stray after all.

The wild ones bluster by
a lucky pack of bastards;
never having hoped
they can never despair.
Sharp-eyed and wired for garbage
they tumble through the railyards
one haphazard, blissful day at at time.

I could learn something from them
those irreverent hounds.
I tell myself
to forget you, or if not
then at least howl in anger
but my dumb beast of a heart
just keeps looking down the tracks
wagging its arrhythmic tail.



KB 9/2015