Volume 30, Number 2

Hate is a Dog

chained to a stake
          in a yard worn bare
                    by his pacing,

blinded by a fence
          with bird spikes
                    nailed on top,

who barks at the wind,
          at voices, at the growl
                    of passing cars,

barks long after
          their sounds ebb
                    into whispers,

who waits for the clatter
          of gravel in the drive,
                    for the gate to open

and a man to shout,
          “Christ, will you
                    shut the fuck up?”

—Richard Spilman