laying on the floor
eyes fixed on the ceiling
deep in his lungs
Lot told me about the black dog in Boulder
who's face was ripped off by a car
while he stood waiting
for the light to change

as he spoke
he relived it
watching the blood pour
from where its face had been

unable to understand
why no one
did anything
as it lay in the road
dieing

even he
did nothing
but stare
and that, he hates

i think
in his life since then
in little ways
he's trying
to make up for that one moment
where he could have
eased the suffering 

where he could have done something