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

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