The Churchgoer | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram

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The Churchgoer



Walking down the road, green leash in hand,

dragging my dead dog.

Once gold, once brown,

only hair and bones now.

Snagged on rocks,

teeth grinding on the sidewalk

blood-dried hair.

He's coming back! He's coming back!

With eyes to the sky.

"He's never coming back."

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