Sochi Scraps
by Odin Roark

Among my pen’s rifling
Hunting its own needs
His imagined snout moves across the page
Seeking out beggary nourishment

A shantytown of doghouses
Provided by an animal-sensitive philanthropist
Fills rapidly with the rush to save
Before pest contractors execute the kill
Collecting their bounty hunter payouts

So goes the life of a stray
Asking but little
A few morsels for staying alive
Needing but a simple discovery
Akin to a poet’s oft times
Elusive syllabic frustration

I stare at the foraging effort
The ink beginning to fill the paper
Becoming my mixed plate of empathy
Abandoned animals can never know

In Olympic Village

Concerned over terrorist threat
Wishing only to stay alive
But another day
Many passersby remain homeless-dog indifferent
Unaware the poison darts
Continue seeking canine nomads

My eyes become blurred

My stylus pauses
I stare at the wall
Imagining Sochi
Or perhaps some other
Abandoned-dog city
Places I’ve never been
Save by make-believe
Ink upon paper

Yet

The howl
The whine
The cry of a frightened animal
Once heard
Is never forgotten…

Save by profiteer-butchers of Sochi