Saturday, February 10, 2024

Forever Home - Feb 7 2024

 

Forever Home

Feb 7 2024


The encampment

under the overpass

looked almost festive;

the multicoloured tents,

buzz of its denizens,

big friendly dogs

running at large.


But drawing closer

I could see the shelters' flimsiness.

The garbage no one bothered with.

The haggard faces

bad teeth

tired looks.


The open fires

and piles of broken crap.

The rotting food

and city rats

running rampant all night.

The spider web of wires

dangling overhead,

like a hydra-headed viper

siphoning power.


The clotheslines

with crusted socks

hung to dry,

the thrift store finds

soaked from cold rain.


The drinkers and druggies

stumbling about

or suffering withdrawal.

The mentally ill

ranting and cussing

or mumbling to themselves.


And the down-on-their-luck,

who'd landed here

on their way someplace else.


Most people had lost weight,

their clothes, cinched at the waist

hung loosely

and looked big.

So even layered up

they looked thin.


But the dogs were fat

and sleek

and wagged their tails playfully,

clearly happy

here in their forever home.

As dogs being dogs

they would be anywhere.

Well-fed

and well-loved

they gave love back

to their human companions

in a way they'd rarely known

if they'd known it at all.


Rescue dogs,

saved by the people

in need of it most.


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