I’m heading up Market Street when I see a woman
about ten yards in front of me
dragging a medium sized dog on a leach
that is shitting as they go.

As I walk up alongside of them I immediately notice
the scars on the woman’s face, her sunken eyes,
and her stained, tattered clothes.

I’m assuming that she’s homeless;
the dog an unfortunate companion.

“It seems he couldn’t wait!” I say to the woman.
To which she responds, “He gimme nuthin but trouble!”

Peering down at the dog, I observe the saddest looking face
I’ve ever seen on an animal.

“I’d take him if I had room. . .”

“You wouldn’t want ‘im. He give you nuthin but trouble!”

As I continue on my way,
I’m feeling nuthin but troubled.

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