Wild Empathy

It must be illegal
to feed pit bulls;
they are always so skinny
and unloved.

I hear the howls.
Arrest me, if you dare.

It seems sometimes
that you cannot take me anywhere.

I cry in public
at the drop of any heartbeat.

I feel the hunger
in every passing scene —
in the flash cards
and ink blots —

and I feel the glory
after the bomb.

I have wild empathy.

I know it’s just another movie,
sappy and droll,
but I cry.