Diary of a Street Dog
They call with a whistle
“A friend” I smile
Only to deform at sight of the "duka"
They whistle instead of my name
Or they think I don’t have one
So I look back but it wasn’t me they wanted
They whistle, seeking my attention
My stomach rumbles for the bone in their hand
Last time I swung my tail for it
I got a duka in the face
I won’t fall for it, I know the trick
Won’t he stoop for the duka again?
I have to eat, I will take the risk
If I get hit, I will heal again.
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