Dogs

The winters are cold here

and I haven’t been out much.

In the evenings

the dogs curl up in corners

not making a sound

on old blankets given by neighbors

on heaps of sand and earth outside houses

being broken and built

built and broken.

A single dog — a well built stray, black with a red collar

howls, squeaks and whimpers

outside a door, scratching the mesh

and I imagine the people inside say–

‘oh its him again…’

but the door stays closed

and the whining continues.

I come home twice a year

and don’t stay very long

some of the dogs recognize me I’m sure,

the way i recognize them —

‘oh its him again…’