Facing the Black Dog

Facing the Black Dog

The black dog howls,
snorts and growls;
rococo furniture
metal knots
devour midnight
TV ghost dots.

Apprehension spikes
her fingertips;
whiskey glass
does a drunken flip,
off the edge
onto the tiles
shards of tears
in her cold brown eyes.

Perfect paws shuffle
kicks up moon dust
floats, disappears
in a cloud of rust,
into the hallway
-blotch by blotch-
like phantom faces
trampled in dust,
into sands of beaches
dreamed-about-only.

Eerie shadows,
a reading lamp light,
will she give up
or will she fight?

A shape on the wall,
is it a Retriever,
black,
or perhaps
a Rottweiler
rabid?

by Ramon Ramirez

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