Sepia Dusk Of Extinction (A True Story) Poem by Nika McGuin

Bronson, my life's great tragedy,
looks at me with eyes brown and orbiculate
the most sympathetic canine eyes I've ever seen
and all but abandoned
he lies groaning in his corner of the backyard
in the filth that surrounds him, he's lost his hope
his body is fed and watered daily
yet he is starved for affection
it reflects in his outward appearance
which is that of a kwashiorkor victim
a distended belly, yet the ribs and spine are exposed
fed, but still so hungry

Counting down the days until his death is the cruelest torture
seeing him, is a sight to cause sore eyes
His owner is complacent and treats him like a collectors item
something used to show off his stature as a man
but he never touches him, and it's been ages
since the customary bath or walk – these are like luxuries to Bronson
like diamonds are to a pauper boy

As a puppy he had it all
a shiny chocolate coat,
baths, walks, freedom, and my affection
but the larger he got the more trapped he became
I could no longer take him on walks
his strength was that of Hercules
but his heart was, and is, that of a small child
his spirit has never ceased in its longingness to play
but when I set off for college,
hardly coming home every other weekend,
Bronson got less and less attention
there was nobody else there to give that sort of love

Soon he developed a mysterious illness
his stomach began to swell
he seemed to drag it around with him
or rather he was dragged by it
as his energy began to dwindle
it seemed to suck the very life out of him

He now sits,
imprisoned in the static route
between his doghouse and a board of wood
only venturing inches away from it to “do his business”
this is his life now, and I feel helpless to do something about it
the only thing I can do is continue the unfruitful pursuit
of begging his owners to take him to the vet
the cheap pills haven't worked, and it's time to take action
but the main owner, the husband,
takes no responsibility for his dog's needs
he instead guilt-trips his wife
for not loading the huge pit-bull into the truck herself
even though she works two jobs and is even busier than he is
even though he bought the dog without her permission
even though she has never been an animal person to begin with
and he guilt-trips me for not being able to convince her
somehow he is the only one who bears no guilt in this situation
and though it isn't my fault,
every time I look into those chestnut eyes,
something in me breaks all over again
old wounds are scraped afresh
but avoiding those eyes
is like ignoring the mastodon in the room
and at this moment he is as they were,
at the dusk of extinction

Like this, Bronson's illness has continued
for what feels like eons
honestly, I’m surprised he is still alive at all,
though he certainly doesn't appear to be kicking
after calling the shelter and pet control
and having neither of them do anything
I am, needless to say, woebegone

So yes, Bronson is my life's greatest tragedy
the one situation I feel powerless to change
all I can do is pet him as much as time allows,
look into his wistful brown eyes,
and watch him fade slowly into sepia
like an old photograph, but in his case
there's not a single photo of him