Dying In A Dead Dog-Stuart James Forrest

A dead dog in the road;
more precious than gold
to a lonely black boy
that was eight years old.
Even more precious alive
was my only friend;
petted, cherished, hugged and hoarded,
away from all of you.
We would never die.
We would never be killed,
but he gamboled into a street
of cracked, cruel, unclean, concrete;
a snare for a pair
of white boys in a car
that leered, laughed and ran him down,
then circled
and ran us down again,
again, again, again.
five times just for fun
five times just for me
Almighty God, how I screamed.
All my father’s beatings,
could not match such shrieking.
I screamed my life’s blood through my eyes.
I screamed waves of my soul
crashing against the gates of heaven;
screams that ripped angels from their sleep,
screams that chased down God and died at his feet.
The boys left us;
my dog, killed in the street,
and me, dead in my dog.
Something empty went to my home,
wearing my clothes.
It pretended to be me for ten thousand years.
STUART JAMES FORREST

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My name is Stuart James Forrest and I was born in Omaha, Nebraska in 1951. I am a retired public servant living in Oceanside, California. I can be contacted by telephone at 650-245-4020 or email, stuartforrest@att.net . In the summer of 2014, I developed a passion for creative writing while attending Stanford University Continuing Studies. I continue writing poetry, short stories and hope to develop enough skill to be a strong, creative voice of my generation of Black Americans who lived through a very tumultuous period in American history.
“I command you to be happy. Now go”
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