The Scavenger Dog

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.