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The Bloodhound

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The Bloodhound

I hate my job.
I am a work dog who can sniff out life and wrongdoing.
I nip at the tired heels in shackles.
I sniffed for the ensnarled and enslaved
on barren southern soil.
I sniff for vulnerable creatures.
My bark is a hoarse moan for blood, captivity and death.
It carries through the Spanish Moss, fields and swamps,
a signal of fear for the panicked prey.
I am ugly with much too much skin
and could stand a face lift.

I am well trained.
Fed raw meat and beaten to obey.
I know the tale of club and gun.
I obey my master.

Best of all, I am treated well for my capture.
Best of all, I have tasted blood today.


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Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 7/20/2019 12:18:00 PM
Aww, poor thing sounds overworked and down! If I could give this Bloodhound a boost in morale, I Really impressive poem, Janis:-) Congrats on winning my contest!
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