The sweet fetid carrion pile 

spreads its legs up and out

on the shoulder of the interstate.

This supine balloon-dog was a spot

prancing happily around the yard

after an old slimy tennis ball;

or maybe he was a rover

snuffling in the grass or a crotch

for briny urine and friends.

Or perhaps she was a hunter,

chained by the throat to the post

in the concrete filled tire;

beaten, and herself left hungry 

to feed the fleas and mosquitoes 

in the burning, sweatless embrace 

of a Louisiana July, till she flopped 

onto her back, scratching, writhing 

side to side in the dirt behind the trailer,

her legs up and out 

awkwardly clawing at the air

before her last ride in the pickup.

-Matt Beeson, © circa 2003