“Shoo!” they say to me all day,
As I wander, unwanted and alone,
Down lonely streets, looking for meat,
And a dry place to call my home.
Among the two-legs, I scavenge their dregs
My ribs bruised by their kicks,
While snobby Maltese snub my maladies:
Rabid and half consumed by ticks.
At night, I roam under a starry dome,
Making friends with homeless addicts
Who are kind, warm, and give shelter from the storm—
Love and compassion among convicts.
Sometimes I slip into depression’s grip
And look at the world with hate.
I look at the others with fathers and mothers
And curse the malevolent Fates.
I was never asked if this were the caste
Into which I would like to be born.
For if I were, I’m sure I’d answer,
“I would prefer to be stillborn.”
Thank you for reading. This poem is about questioning the inherent “Good” in bringing life into the world and for whose purpose is it done. I am in no way condemning those who breed animals or buy puppies instead of strays.
If you would like to read more, please visit my site, Rafiki’s Nikki, by clicking HERE
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