Collected Poems: Vol. I

Perro Callero

I want a stray dog.
I smile every time I see them walk past—Puerto Rico is full of them.
They look lonely and sad.
Most have been too afraid of me, until today when two came right on up and ate the leftover chicken in a can that I gave them.
I told them I didn't have much but I was willing to share.
I realized they probably spoke Spanish.
One had tumors, and it's leg quivered from the strain of its weight.
They let me pat them.
They enjoyed the small moment of love I was willing to give them and left.
I think I miss them.