wet dog and stale smoke

he leans against the building
unmindful of the rain
scowling at the brown grass
as he puffs the cigarette
and watches his dog scout
for the perfect place to shit
we are cordial
i don’t know his name
or that of his ankle biting
yipping little shit machine
but i nod to which
he nods back
both of us indifferent
but going through the motions.

every once and a while
he gets the urge to chat
to which i politely nod
and add accordingly.

thank whatever absent host
was watching malignantly
today was not one of those
as the gray above
has infected my insides
with a scowl like his
as he tries to hurry
the mongrel about its business.

wet dog and stale smoke
fills the dreary day
it seems pretty unfuckingfair
to be without her lips
on a day meant to be spent
lounging in bed
not nodding and hoping
he doesn’t decide to speak.

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