The dog barks at the wrong tree,

urinates and stakes his claim,

on the wall of the grumbling bus stop,

he

laughs it off as the humans walk

and talk, and shake their heads

and he

shakes his tail, shakes it and pants

he pants in the hot sun

with a dry tongue

lights up another wood tipped Black and Mild,

and hears the dirty man preaching

about Gentiles being alikened

to dogs eating the crumbs

that fall from the Master’s table

he burns his eyes with the smoke,

laughs and goes to make a joke,

pants and weeps on his way over

and finds his morsels at the foot of Christ.