I saw a dog bleed out last night.
I saw a dog bleed out last night.
Among the bright characters and sleepless LED.
A small intersection, between the wet market and a massage parlor.
Murmur of taxis, horns not honking, wheels in uncommon creep.
Each the flood lights onto the pool formed, now in curdle.
Cabs now float back to sea, transportation doesn’t stop for casualties.
On plastic chairs, mouths continue. Chat, meat, bathed in rice wine.
Not long ago it would have been on the menu.
It twitches without a whimper, legs jolt away from the last of life.
It, subject of concern to a pouting old woman who barely slows her pace.
It, has its legs gripped in a single hand by the owner of the establishment.
It, dragged without resistance to the side of the road beside some vegetables.
No blood past the smear, no more twitching, taxis back on regular migration.
What should I have done? Called an ambulance? A vet? The police? A priest?
The truth is I cared as little as everyone else.
Nobody wants the inconvenience of putting a life back together.