back from work when he rings the bell
his face tells me not all is well.

there's a dog out there,
seriously wounded, can't even get up
saying this he picks up a plastic bowl
pours some water in it
and to show him he isn't alone
I follow him with a bowl of milk
with breads soaked in it,

must be some insolent car tyre
crushed his hind legs
a black emaciated one
with a patch of white

and upon that grass
beneath the sinking night
we two mourn.