A Poem For Red Dog
Hills out of red grainy sand.
Out of breath,
Dead ferns sway in the hot humid wind.
Trotting up the road panting uncontrollably.
Trying to find a voice, a call, a sound but dead silence.
Off balance and sweating.
Then a thump darkness shadows you.
Breathing shallowly waiting for someone to cure me.
To care for me.
Waiting for a voice.
Then a sound, a voice in the distance someone’s here…