John Korn Pittsburgh, PA

Grey Dog Death
deep water children
With raw eyeless sockets
Drag a dead dog off the hard street
And into the grass
Its fur is grey
and they run their little fingers through it
They don’t think too much
It’s intuition
A feeling
The dogs name was Kindred
They don’t bury it
They plant ivy around it’s body
And over the course of summer
 long green tendrils crawl
over the body
Until it is like a mummy wrapped in leaves
The ivy slowly pulls the carcass into the earth
By winter the ivy is dead
And the tips of the dog’s ribs
Poke out of the earth
Like fangs

John Korn in a Pittsburgh poet, and the author of Television Farm, which includes the poem  “14 Young Women”  —a poem nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Bree is a poet and artist in Pleasureville, KY. Her latest collection Look Up and Up is available at Least Bittern Books. She has been drawing poets with birds.

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