Death, a Mile Distant

Upon the railway track I see
a limping dog, a ragged soul within
a coat
of flea-bitten fur
half-sheared by the razor of the years.
The ash-white stones
cut, dagger-like, into his
canine pads: the fox and wolf in him are dead.
He stumbles now,
a soldier on enfeebled feet.
Ahead, (where curves this track
of rushing dreams), he hears
that dread metallic howl.
Gently,
he spreads himself
across a sunburnt bar of steel and waits
for death, a mile distant.


(written ca. late 2014)

For more about the poem, see notes.

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