Lockdown Dogs

Philip Miller

One by one,

the lockdown dogs

are being put down.

The wet black paths

of their noses dry,

and we don’t speak

of what or who has died.

In the park, they are dragged

like bags of heavy leaves,

bushels of collars and leads

buried for growing memories.

As the sun sets,

a gleaming bus slides,

like a guilty iceberg,

past the sinking porthole.