Dog Fight 2008
We’re interbred until born mad,
Made to walk circuits to harden soft pads.
Our legs made more muscular, our teeth filed to points,
Exercised hourly to loosen stiff joints.
We’re tied in arenas and sent in small pets,
Our masters release us to tear them to shreds.
We’re
shown no affection, no love, just great pain,
As pups left to whimper in pits full of rain.
We’re bitten and torn at by those of our kind,
And are taught to attack them as if we are blind.
After time we feel no pain, our bodies grow numb.
We grow tired, we grow weak, but our masters don’t come.
We
can stop the fight, scarred, tired and hurt,
And collapse bleeding, dying, on the rings red earth.
Sometimes were patched up, sometimes we’re stitched.
If we won maybe patted, the looser gets ditched.
Nobody loves us, well, nobody could
Tattered and torn and covered in blood.
A
soft muzzle of scars, legs silvered from bites,
A furry chest, with a heart, pitted from fights.
A tail that still wags and a urge just to please,
Then used as a weapon and brought to our knees.
The masters love winning, their blood lust to sate.
Is this the 1600’s?
No - two thousand and eight.
--Chris Powell
|
