The Dog-Man : A Poem
The Dog-Man
Stuck in confederate backwoods where James
Byrd was drug behind a pick-up truck I find love
There she goes through woods on asphalt roads
The dog-man dances past the old church house
He swipes his forehead, pores full of sour liquor
The modest congregation shouts “Hallelujah!”
As the pastor enthralls his dwindling flock
Black cats lap milk from a shallow bowl
On the wooden porch where I hang my legs
Meows favor the cries of an infant inside
The trailer home where my love resides
…
I met her in the city where fiberglass
And metal are a substitute for foliage
A lovelorn not yet scorned woman
Foreign to my world of access
Reflection on the glass
She catches my glance
Almond shaped eyes
Gaze into mine
I pause for a moment
Fast forward to present
…
She stands bare foot on shallow grass
My callus palms clasp her hands
The dog-man dances past pit-bulls
Stuck on chains in those backwoods
They bark his name in baritone
Their master has returned home
He smiles at me with rotten teeth
Calls out a muffled “hello”
I am foreign to her world
The hospitality of folks
Down those old back roads
PWIV