by Donal Mahoney
Officer Burks brings Max
the Bloodhound
into the alley
and Max immediately
strains at his leash,
He's onto the scent
of a killer.
Nose to the gravel,
Max sniffs back and forth,
slobber dripping
from his hammock lips,
his head never rising.
Burks knows Max
will corner the killer,
but not so fast.
He almost trips when
Max breaks his leash
and charges forward,
jaws agape,
incisors bare,
till a shot is heard
and Max drops,
a bullet in his head,
blood puddling
in little lakes
around him.
It is ever so:
Max was slain
by the same killer
wanted by everyone
since the beginning
of time, the killer
who waits
in alleys and caves
and other dark places
primed to harvest,
one by one,
all of us
if our time comes.
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