Tail tucked.
Eyes weary and watery.
A roadside dog.
A part pulls it to the edge,
seeking to shoot into the street.
Amid the roaring chaos machines
that rumble and surge
–shrill or silent.
A part pulls it back,
claiming the comfortably known.
A stretch of sidewalk free of danger,
free of metal monsters,
devoid of food.
Sitting at the roadside,
fear fades as its hunger heightens.
Until the dog is compelled to propel
itself in among the hurried humans
& their rolling death boxes.
By B Gourley in Animals, poem, Poetry on August 5, 2017.
