Stray Dogs
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A pack of stray dogs by my uncle's house
Tearing down the street
A streak of wild legs and open mouths
In love with their lives and their speed
I can't believe the joy that poured out of them
Mangy and lean
Weaving between parked cars and people
Taking turns in the lead
We used to be that free
Found a photograph of the four of us
New York, 2 am
Drove three hours just for the record shop
Lost in the punk rock bins
I can't believe the joy that poured out of us
When we were nineteen
Now we don't speak
It gets harder to call with every year in between
But we used to be that free
How long has it been since you felt the cheap thrill
Of night air on your skin?
My heart's a stray dog
Calling out for his brothers to come run along