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434th Weekly Poetry Contest honorable mention: Canine Murder

by Miles T. Ranter

Somewhere on the fringes of the city,
    two canines snarl and snap.
    Soon one of them will nap
forever. The small gathering shows no pity.

The Breed is hefty (over thirty pounds),
    ears semi-prick or rose.
    When butted in the nose
or kicked, the beast will make ferocious sounds.

Triton appeared to be the breed they banned—
    a sort, they said, like poison.
    None called the girls and boys in,
however, when his tongue would lick a hand.

He’d never saved men drowning in the sea
    or children lost in snow.
    Yet Triton was a pro
at filling youngsters and adults with glee.

Though no one ever burglarized his place,
    it wouldn’t have been hard.
    He wasn’t made to guard.
He’d sooner go and kiss the robber’s face.

You could’ve filched the watches, jewels, the bread,
    and the brawny dog to boot.
    He’d’ve let you take the loot
as long as you made certain he was fed.
This morning someone labeled him the Breed.
    At noon he was collected,
    at dusk he was injected,
while no one made a move to intercede.

Somewhere two combatants snarl and bite.
    The coppers never show.
    Under the moon’s pale glow,
another victim stains the earth tonight.

434th Weekly Poetry Contest