Wild Dog

My dog was wild – not quite the wolf

chained up under Uncle Clyde’s porch in that town

where you had to collect water from a pump and

shit in an outhouse the local boys would push

over whilst you were performing – but it was

obvious the day I got home and found my tamed

red squirrel torn to pieces. So it was time to let

the dog go, doing unto another like that unacceptable

even in my childlike take on the rights and wrongs

of things [and a double tragedy in such a concurrent

loss] but it was around a week later when the farmer

returned its lead and said his dog now was chasing sheep

and running free and living a life that eviscerating my

other pet was just the manifestation of what should be.