A Wee Poem For Wednesday

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Pissed Upon

 

There he was, standing by the side of a freeway, and so was his owner

Rain, from the heavens, probably not a blessing

A small coat, covering all of his back, also minute

Pleading to be allowed to run away, with eyes that read, fuck you

This however, would never be tolerated

 

He had a sign; he was a sign, a sign that cruelty still exists

Manifesting inside a man who obviously cherished cash more than his sense of humanity

One kick and another stern telling off, uttered with complete disdain

Reaching out to grab another buck, another coin

Pissed upon by those who treat him just like he treats his dog

 

 

Copyright Alan Zoltie November 8, 13

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