Cold, silver in the edges that corrode on the earth
An orange tree above, smells of over-ripe citrus and wet weeds
Squashed blossoms scattered by his ears drooping as his eyes see nothing
Cataracts, debilitating but enabling and even enhancing his life
His nose has gotten better; he can smell chickens
Clucking with droopy giblets flopping on corn kernels
Tasty like pig ear chew and old boat shoes
Slyly waiting, feeling the crunch of gravel beneath biped feet
A rattle of a pot with a wooden din of a moldy unwashed spoon
Salivating into puddles as the metal bowl fills
"Whoa buddy, you were hungry."
Bowl upturned and scattered kibble makes for a welcome pillow as the day fades into black.
