Sunday, February 14, 2021



One day Grandpa brings home a small black dog. We go for the obvious and name him Blackie. The little dog wanders between my grandparents flat on the first floor, our flat on the second floor and the yard. Sometimes he escapes the yard, but always comes back. 


One morning, Grandpa tosses Blackie into the cellar and locks the door. Soon, men arrive wearing heavy clothing and thick gloves. They go down the cellar carrying a metal cage and come up with Blackie in it. He growls, snarls, bares his teeth. He drools, a foamy bubbly drool.  Claws at the cage. Barks violently. The cage is put in a van with a double lock. Blackie’s barking and snarling continue as the van drives away.


                                                             full moon

                                                             above my head

                                                             grasping shadows

 World Haiku Review Autumn 2020



Sandy said...

I babysat two small children one summer. The little boy told me every day that his collie just disappeared, and that he was waiting for it to return. The dog's name was Tweed. Your poem brought back that 55 year old memory.

Adelaide said...

Sad story about the missing collie.