Will I remember, young or old,
Your face as you were leaving?
Or maybe more, the face you bore
At the moment of our meeting? 

You stole the food from off my table.
You killed a baby rabbit.
You sang with my harmonica.
You liked to smell of maggots.

You worked hard to smell refined:
You liked to roll in refuse.
Your teeth were always rotting out,
And your muzzle damp with drool

I'll recall when first I met you:
Wandering and hungry.
And then again when last I found you:
Stiff and cold and empty.

I'll think about the time between
When you, my friend, lived with me.