Out of Sight

Puppy pile.
Puppy pile.

He curls on the frozen earth

Beneath the dumpster

Beside the parking lot that,

So poorly constructed,

Pools water in rain and snow

Which then freezes into

A lake where no one can

Tread without a great deal

Of frictionless agony.

He peeks out when he hears

Someone coming to discard

Their rubbish and

Unwanted things into the bin,

Hoping to rummage through

Them, with his brothers,

But not too quickly so as

Not to startle the person

Who may deem the presence

Ostensibly threatening.

Snow falls and days fade

As he fights with others

Of his kind, teeth bared

And threats thrown about

In grumbling, inhuman tones,

While passers-by, especially

Young boys in tight caps,

Kick and taunt.

He had no resentment in his

Heart, yet something inside

Flared and ate at him

As if his body lost the

Capability to contain its

Own acidic humors.

Sneezing and tied, he rests

Under the dumpster,

Driven from the open

Grasses once dead, now

Covered in snow,

The gentle shivers

Reminding him of the

Peaceful warmth that

He never possessed.

Composed 11/12/13

Author’s Note: Sometimes it’s hard to see how Mongolian people treat the dogs out here. Coming from a culture where we tend to view dogs in more of a companion role, it bothers me to see kids throwing rocks at and kicking puppies. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I yelled at some boys from my window. They scattered, as most would, when an old, cranky foreign dude yells at you. To be fair, they were on my lawn.

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