poem on the 8 8

grass grows thick
on small fields
surrounded by hard
concrete
an empty piece
of land
that is home
to no one
but a small
dog with tears
in his eyes
as his mother
lays in a
puddle of blood.
Flat.
On the concrete.
Fresh tire marks
upon her golden
fur.
A soft whimper
as the dog
cries for his
mother.
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1