A Scruffy Dog's Plea

A Scruffy Dog's Plea

A scruffy dog with a skin disease sits outside my clinic, looking at me with a plea in his eyes. This poem is my unsuccessful effort to put his silent plea in words.

Will you do a favor doctor dear?
My words of woe will you hear?
Please do something for my skin.
Eczema, ringworm, rash, psoriasis
In your language whatever it is
It is my some unforgiven sin.

It itches sorely day and night,
I scratch it to pitiable sight,
With your eyes you can see.
I am a sad condemned soul,
Tho’ free and out on parole,
There is no home I can be.

Have no master who can own,
As a “street dog” I am known,
I live on thrown away food.
I sleep on the garbage heap,
With others as dirty and cheap.
We all play to lift our mood.

Doctor, I am a simple bloke,
I neither drink nor smoke,
I have none of immoral vice.
Could you tell if you please,
How I contacted this disease?
I was once handsome and nice.

Dirty droll, scruffy scroll they say,
Even fleas flee from my way
How I have lost my coat fine.
Free me of this itch hateful,
To you I’ll ever be grateful,
I’ll surrender this life of mine.

Originally published in Wikinut

May 19, 2013

Xavier Bage