John-Ward Leighton


It hounds us all
the worrying world of
lies, hate and depression
it seems to come on
for little or no reason.
Like a marauding black dog
it doesn’t need a season
to knock down our carefully constructed
house of cards.

The cards flutter away
and for seventy three today
their time was up
in an ear splitting crack of sound
and light
some poor fools of the incidents
pulled the switch to explode
and filled their pseudo heaven
with innocents.

A one-day headline
a statistic of blood and gore
awaiting another dumb ass horror.
Could a suicide bomber really
hope for more?
The black dog
doesn’t know from happy or sad
and could care less if you are
alive or dead.

Bombs fall from F18s
they have no conscience
to guide them to their target
only lethal little bomb-lets
exploding long after the fact
so infantile bullies
can dress in warriors’ clothes
proclaiming victory
from carrier deck.

The black dog
the viscous black dog
of lies, hate and depression
doesn’t need a reason
it loves its misery
and always has the
final excuse of
a manufactured history.

Like dog shit on the sidewalk
it doesn’t talk or think
and it certainly doesn’t care
it’s just there to stink.

The black dog lives in all of us
we could fix the now
and end the misery
if we could just evade
that lying
black dog of history.