{In memory of our assassinated dog}

His Achilles’ heel was his very loud barks
that won him the enmity of the entire neighborhood,   
whose idea of a pet is a silent toy 
with which one could loiter lethargic afternoons, 
or flaunt one’s wealth in the ability to buy 
and feed a very expensive dog. 

It was only on the day we buried him 
that we learned the very bitter fact 
that some neighbors had sought 
the eviction of our shepherd dog, 
who spent his time licking his paws 
unless enraged by hooligans 
who frequently howled at his repose. 

The paper circled from door to door 
but ran short of support
for some wouldn’t sign the historic scroll. 

Could one imagine a police squad
knocking at a pacifist’s door
to arrest her dog
because of his loud discourse?

CO2 swirls every evening into each room
from neighboring cafes and households,
miasmas of hookahs and burning coal,
plus the outbursts of mirth and wrath
during TV football matches and noisome feuds
over bewitching jeune filles in yonder restaurants.

Two rats were recently caught in our house,
creatures we had not encountered for forty years.
We started wondering if they had been the cause
of Snoop’s foaming mouth and bloated stomach.

This affluent district has troops of rats 
in its glamorous backyards,
an issue more pressing than the barks
of our departed shepherd dog.