You smile at me, and sometimes I know it's your charm,
but sometimes I wonder if you're just waiting for me to pass
so you can chase me as soon as I'm not looking
to infect me with whatever disease
has inspired the loss of hair on your back legs.
You smile, and I see the red rims of your tired eyes
as a sign that you're a spawn of Satan.
You smile, and sometimes I really do think
that maybe there's this bubbly personality
which finds gratefulness to any scrap of food
left for you by the neighbors.
I see three dogs every now and then,
each with similar spots.
Are they brothers?
By sharing our crumbs are we just encouraging the procreation?
You smile, wagging your tail as if a nod to my questions.
Then there was the time when I saw one of you get hit by a car.
The event happened so quickly, and I honestly couldn't tell you
who was at fault.
Yet your kind walked, ere, trotted away,
tongue hanging to the side in a smirk.
But what could I say of the plume of smoke
from the side of the road near our neighborhood playground?
After inquiring, I was told that one of you didn't make it;
so someone set the flame to best rid
the world of the infirmities of the rotting body.
The children thought you smelled like carne asada,
the adults all covered their noses
and made vows not to eat meat for a week.
You smile, but your end is coming.
While the Vikings might consider your send off glorious,
we just hold our nostrils together.
Look. I like dogs, really. Just better when they're on a leash, spayed/neutered, and clean.
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