Eddie

liked to
think he was
stronger than dirt,

but
he had a
weak spot
in his heart
for his dog,
Bastard.

now,
old Bastard,
he was tough.

he’d been hit
by cars
twice,

and,
even when Eddie
found him,

three years ago,
under the Parker’s steps,

with a
broken leg
and his throat cut,

he didn’t even
whimper.

Eddie wouldn’t have
noticed him

if he
didn’t hear him
moving around
in the leaves.

in fact,
that’s how
the dog
got his name.

when Eddie saw
the condition he was in,
he said
“Bastard!”
and the dog
just looked at him,
as if to say
“back at ya, buddy!”

they were tight
since then,
Eddie and the Bastard.

he liked to think
they’d be
friends forever,

but, he knew
it didn’t
work that way.

one day
the old Bastard
would run out of luck…

a car would
get him
and that’d be
the end of it.

that was fine,
with Eddie.

nothing
lasts
forever.

until that time,
they’d just
hang out,

him
and the Bastard.

besides,
what they’ve got
is ten times
better

than
immortality.

About the Author

John Yamrus

Since 1970 John has published nearly 1,200 poems in magazines around the world. His newest book, NEW AND SELECTED POEMS, is available from Amazon. DOING CARTWHEELS ON DOOMSDAY AFTERNOON will be available March 1st from Epic Rites Press.