Poetry

Death is a Black Dog

I saw the
black dog once
exhausted on I-64
between Richmond
and Norfolk
Running right at me
So large
I jammed the brakes
my heart leaping
in my chest
then it
wasn’t
there

Disappeared
but it was
solid, real
until it wasn’t
Years later
I heard the
trucker’s “myth”
about the
black dog
Why a black dog?
The tale left me
at a loss
Speechless
knowing one second
off that night
and I would have
been lost

Death is a black dog
and I saw him some
thirty years past
and not once since
but he will come again –
of this I’m convinced
he will not be denied
when it is time

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