Growl

I saw the best dogs of my breed destroyed by the Humane Society,
starving, fur wet and matted,
limping, pads torn walking through yards at dawn
searching for food and a pat on the head
who were expelled from homes for pissing on the carpets and chewing on the begonias
who howled in the backyard for the simple joy of howling
and were dragged off to the car to be abandoned on the other side of town
who ate Kentucky Fried Chicken bones out of the garbage and curled up,
wet and forsaken on the front yards of Amerika
who in desperation presented themselves to the steps of Academia
where they were strapped to tables and injected with cancer cells and formaldehyde.
who, with no thought but preservation found themselves in front of cameras
starved so that they would eat Alpo
who were burned alive in plaid doggy sweaters as they sat in cars
watching for their masters to return from Sears with the doggy door.
who lost their puppies to the whims of human masters and who plunged themselves
under Volvos searching for their progency
Ah, dog, you are not safe, I am not safe, and now you're really in the total dog soup of time
who, although a Dalmation, returning years later truly bald except for spots of blood
who rose again in the ghostly clothes of ribs, saying "Man, man, why have you forsaken me?"