To steel myself

and force my mind elsewhere,

I make eye contact

with the dog outside my window.

She’s panting violently,

like tonight’s eager customer

currently testing

the strength of my bed frame.

Her silver fur is sparse,

like leaves on an oak

when summer dies off

and fall sucks its first breath.

Dirt and dumpster slime

cling to her drooping snout.

Flies circle her head,

too early for their dinner.

Her eyes drop,

and I know what she’s thinking:

“I swear this isn’t me.

I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

I soften my eyes,

and let her know I understand.

She’s not the only girl

just trying to find her next meal.