• He must have been angry,
    He must have been mad.
    Because all I could see,
    Was his flailing hands.

    He would never hit her
    So he hit what he could see.
    He found me in a corner
    He took his anger out on me.

    He hit anything he could reach.
    My legs. My head. My face.
    The pain was so unbearable,
    It might as well have been a mace.

    I could tell he used tools,
    It wasn’t just his hands.
    I heard a few snaps,
    Wherever the objects would land.

    All those times of friendship,
    Meant nothing to him now.
    As every time he struck me,
    It seemed he enjoyed my howl.

    Almost a week later,
    I lay in the same place.
    Until I take a peek,
    And I see a new face.

    The look of sympathy,
    Was as pained as my body.
    They could not help but stare,
    Because I was all bloody.

    I heard voices speak:
    “Poor thing was hit with a log.
    Only thing the owner said:
    ‘Who cares? It’s just a dog’”