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.