John Dog

Burned dog lying still on it's side

Fur scorched into bare

Discolored skin

Footprints of men surround

Weak panting

Whimpers

There was no touch offered

No comfort was given

No tug on the collar

It did not understand

Why they did not stop

Hand on head

Soft voice call

When before it was so easy for them

Tongue touching sand

Confusion choked the last sight

One slow blink

The backs of men moving forward

Just one soft movement

Was all the poor thing needed

To remember

Feel remembered

Not one man looked back

It must have done something wrong

It thought

As the sand turns to grass

As the burn turns to touch

And it hears it's name

We were holding hands

I see you smiling but you're not calling my name

Now I'm all alone with my head in my heads

Oh god