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.
Two Second Street 