Stray Dogs

by Daryl Rogers

 

14 November 2005

I've been looking for the drive-thru
flu-shot station at the university.
Evidently, students have had some fun,
positioning the signs every which a way.
I give up and decide I'll do it another time.
On the way out of the stadium I see
a black hound darting in and out of traffic.
I wait sickening minutes, as it's almost hit
time after time, for the light to change
and then turn left, my eyes peeled.
Two of them exist, both black as coal,
feeding off one another, totally unaware
of what the cars might mean.
One has spittle behind an eye, a white
slash, already been hit maybe.
Both are panting, looking at each other,
looking at the traffic, before darting back
into the machine of early rush hour and then
they're on the grounds of an apartment complex
and I pull into the place and try to coax them
into my truck, but they look at me
like they've never seen a human being before,
tongues out, glancing around at the circus of
commuters, plunging in front of cars and pickups,
delivery vans, city buses and motorcycles.
I call the city police and pull across the road,
where I saw them last, behind a demolished church,
get out and wander around hoping this time they'll
come to me or at least I'll be able to scare them
away from the damn road. No sign of them.
The way they were moving they could be
miles from here. It makes me sick, I tried
but came up short. The way their eyes looked,
the two of them, young, together, lapping it up,
totally unaware of the consequences.
I'd love, to be able, to go back in time.

 

© 2005 Daryl Rogers

Daryl Rogers was born in 1955 and started writing poetry around 1984. His first acceptances came from Wormwood Review and the New York Quarterly, which, unfortunately, only encouraged him to keep it up. He edited River Rat Review from 1986-1992. He's done some illustrations for small press magazines, including portraits of Patti Smith, Bukowski and WCW for Bogg Magazine. His most recent chapbook is Sunny Day, available from March Street Press.