Driving home one cloud-cluster-fucked night,
I saw a man cross 20 feet ahead then heard
a sickening thud-crunch and hit the brake.
He’s yelling “back up, back up, you’ve run him over.”
As soon as I make out it’s about a dog,
I’m so relieved it’s not his child that I start sobbing
my lungs yanking tighter than a draw-string purse
and as tight as my company’s budget.
I had killed his black Labrador puppy. I back up,
get out and wail, “Why wasn’t he on a leash?”
More and more angry. “Why did you let him run loose!
How can I see a black dog in the night?”
A woman appears, cries her puppy’s brand new.
They were going to get a leash the next day.
The puppy was lonely and crying to stay with her
while they were moving into their first house.
This really happened to me at about 8:30 pm one night, and I changed jobs as soon as I could afterward.
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