BLACK DOG
The Black Dog
sniffs at my heels
and snarls
too softly for comfort.
Black Dog, go home.
Go home!
I call upon
your master
to call you
home.
O master of the Black Dog,
call your Black Dog home.
Call it off, call it home,
this Black Dog of yours
sniffing at my heels
and snarling softly
at my heels,
too softly for comfort.
“I will strike your heel,”
the Black Dog says;
says the big Black Dog
sniffing at my heel;
“And I will crush your head,”
says I to him who, poised to strike my heel,
hears his master’s voice afar off snarling,
Strike! Strike! Strike!
Strike the bloody goddamned kike!
Strike until his blood runs red.
That was what it said,
the Master said,
as it struck my heel
and I crushed its head
and our blood ran red
so early in the morning.
