My dog ran away last summer
from a pair of dogcatchers.
They chased him down an alleyway,
and out into the streets.
Picking his way through the packed-tight asphalt
he made his escape.
My dog ran away last summer
and at night,
if I listen closely,
with some shamrock's luck
I hear him howl.
My dog ran away,
from fate,
from capture,
from an ever-close cage.
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