AUBADE
The alley mutts at dawn
crawl from their nightly hells
to gobble what they can find—
half-eaten garbage or other kind.
Sated, they give kingly yawns
at tardy derelicts shuffling their
way with pints bought or conned.
One man whistles like he did for his
old dog Rowe, its nostalgic note of
long ago startling paws and feet
into a happy dance all too brief.
(2014)
