A stiff wind whips across the dying prairie,
pulling up the dead grass and depositing it among the still living.
The stone grey sky casts the gloom over
an old mutt dog trudging down the solitary dirt road.
The wind taunts his wheezing pant like a bully,
whistling and howling in his ears,
doing its best to push him over.
The mutt is too tired to howl or bark
or growl or even whine.
He just walks on,
hanging his head low to keep the wind out of his eyes,
which are the same shade of foggy grey
as the patches of fur on his dingy coat.
The wind makes him shiver, but it doesn’t speed or slow his pace.
It ducks through the posts of a collapsing fence along the side of the road
and asks him,
The dog doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know.
Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt