One is sleek;
off the streets;
a mean face
—a fighter.
The other dog is a dope
—a contented moron.
The fighter always jumps the dope,
ceaselessly pins him down in anger.
A decent dog would quit
but the dope never does.
As the fight goes on,
the fighter loses nerve.
With a dumb, absurd enthusiasm,
the dope comes through
—throws the fighter up against the wall,
panting lovingly
the entire time.
This dubious excuse for a dog
is prophetic
—this embodiment of dumb devotion to life
continues out-brawling
the brawler.
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