The rescue dog
saved from  the Amish
farm in Southern Illinois

Waited statue still
in the barred garage
a makeshift kennel

Once clotted and covered
by its own filth
and a barn’s detritus

Its fur now
washed and groomed
to eventually grow

To distinguishing Schnauzer
gleamed like a new toy
under a Christmas tree

In the stream of welcoming
sun it had discovered
in its suburban shelter

The dog, head
cocked in wonder
at the foreign quietness,

growled shyly in
almost kitten purr
at random drifting leaves

The perfect black mask
around its coffee eyes
reflected the dog’s lot

It was an intruder
It would not stay here
It was heading home.

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And perhaps some punctuation?


Nowhere else

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