A wild dog named Sabaka roamed the alleys at will.
She growled and frothed and seemed destined to kill.
The owner in the wheelchair thought it was funny.
Sabaka would trot the streets, in her mouth a dead bunny.
Neighbors would try to poison Sabaka, but she would not take the bait.
As if in revenge she howled all night, keeping the neighbors up late.
At times on purpose the owner left the gate open wide.
Sabaka terrorized everything in her path, there was nowhere to hide.
Sabaka got old, bitter and her rabidness spread.
One day I walked by the yard, a wheelchair was tipped over, the owner bitten dead.
I turned around because something was sniffing my hand.
That's when my insides tipped over, it was my adrenaline gland.