Lonely Man there on the Corner

 

One Stray Dog for Lunch

One grocery cart, stole from some damned corporate conglom’rat . . . two shirts. one pair Dockers—used. comb. 22 newspapers. 2 mags, salvaged from 7/11. 29 business cards: 2 lawyers; 6 cops; a wine salesman, real estate agent, insurance broker . . . and one clergyman. . . . Who the hell’d I use ta be? I use ta . . . what? Oh. A stray dog. I’m hungry. Here doggy, puppy, puppy . . .

Welcome to dinner, little puppy. Damn those eyes! C’mpassion don’t fill a empty belly! Or do it? Sign—make a sign. . .

Yeah. He’s homeless too. Shelter won’t take us in. No. Can’t leave the poor little bastard. Oh. Thank you. You’re so kind . . . Look, Pup. Seven bucks. Most this corner ever. You’re good luck. Don’t lick that; it’s dirty . . .

He’s sick. Fix ‘im. No. I don’t got no money. Whaddaya mean? I stink? This place is catpiss! Same to you, bitch—have a blesse’d day! Think you’re better’n me . . . drive a fancy car . . . I usta drive a Caddy, baby. No, Pup, acourse you don’t know nothin’ bout that. Here. You eat the dog; I’ll just eat the fries-wash ‘em down with Rose water . . .

David M Pitchford
4 April 2008

This poem was inspired by a poem by Alison [http://silentpoetry.com] and an actual homeless person my wife and I have seen frequently over the last couple weeks. He and some lady park a shopping cart at a busy intersection here in town. They keep a small dog in the cart; the cart has a cardboard sign declaiming the fact that the shelter won’t take them in because of the stray dog. Seemed like an effective hook but for the fact that there is precious little foot traffic there.