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The scavenger dog

Moving along the dirty streets
With its standing ears down
Sored at both tip. No gametes
At sight sex unknown no proper noun

Running away from stones
Well targeted, thrown by the jocular juveniles
For showing interest in contested bones
They laugh unhappily as their best friend flies

Feasting on the black round faeces
Of well fed fat goats
Or a week old lorry ridden rats or rotten Pisces
Puddle. Lucky when it sees a bone that floats

Playing seriously with Latrine flies
Who always surround its nine vivid ribs
Sucking nectar where it wounds lies.
In its hair dead ticks build their cribs.

Lying comfortably on the puffy street sewage
Allowing the fighting mice to lull it to death
It was after a drink from the drainage
And barking on a scorpion which it later ate.

Shaking helplessly on the road
Till the lead trailer ran pass it.
It was buried by cars and buses full with load
The worms and flies could not just die with it 

It was a pregnant dog.

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