two dogs

by jdavidcharles

Sometimes I don’t want to write descriptions of my poems. People. Interaction. &c. I do hope you like it though.


two dogs


you pass by the usual places,

the smallness and intimacies

of your mutual incidence: the


restaurants, park, a freeway

overpass you both noticed

and there’s not too much


to say about your “falling out”

is there as the stretch of concrete

and steel remind you of her


body or his body, its mortality

and its stretch of limb on limb,

your sharing of warmness, and


the fine nicks and bruises

and so-called bodily blemishes

born out in countless ways and


you suddenly feel abused,

abused and worn-out, wronged,

taken advantage of as the


expression goes, used like an

animal or dog, begging, whipped,

two dogs each straining against


the cordage of leash when what

we really mean is a common

and mutual loss of dignity, a


loss of name, or face, placeless,

dissevered, not a thing but an

emptiness not to be given


the dignity of abuse or injury

but that must silently face that

way, and what to do or say or


name—straining, she told me,

we were like two dogs straining