The Fourth of July

A dog got hit in front of our house.
For days it lay in the gutter.
When it rained, the white intestines
made a trail toward the storm drain.
I would cross the street
to watch it.

The difference between a poet and a murderer
is that murderers are more creative.
They do not wait for accidents.
They are not content with one dog
lying dead for days in a gutter.
They’re ambitious, and they bore easily.