Cries of a dog,
he bereaves his voice.
It's long gone.
And when it happened,
he didn't know it was murder.
Of course not,
you never see these things coming.
Foresight like that
could cripple you
quickly.
Looking back,
I don't know how he did it-
How that dog used to smile
a grin like upside down coat hangers.
It appeared out of nowhere,
and carved a deep night
into the 6th of July.
Sure,
you could call it a coincidence,
but no cracks hid between his teeth.
When summer roll'd her legs out,
He could sing about anything
but preferred to sing about little things
like
the arch of her foot,
or the flower on her wall.
Both breathtaking.
I'd see him in her front yard
sometimes.
Quiet as an ellipses.
Staring off
into an abandoned house across the street
like he could still see
the family that moved away years ago.
Boy, they used quarrel.
You could set your clocks
by the police sirens
and windows breaking
from the inside out.
Their kid would face off with the dog
each and every day after school.
The boy was always scared,
you could tell
by the way he would prop up his back pack
high up on his shoulders
right before he reached the lawn the dog slept on,
like a soldier
carrying the last of his possessions off into war.
I guess we all have our own version of bravery.
Those days don't matter much now.
not since that girl went missing,
just like the family
that used to live across the street.
That dog don't sing no more.
Cries all fucking night though,
keeps me from my sleep.
I don't mind too much,
I've always been the type of guy
who needs an excuse to write.
So that dog can howl his heart out.
I'm a man
that loves his loneliness,
so I consider it lovely,
to know that the dog still
loves that girl.
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