Benji was small, with sores on his feet
He had missing patches of fur and blood from when they beat
Beat him night and day,
For fun, when they were bored.

They even went out of their way
To hurt him when it rained
But he always came back,
Just a pup who wanted some company.

One day I tripped over a stick by the well
Remembered throwing it in frustration
Remembered him bringing it back
To me from where I fell.

I met Benji young too
Two of us traveling this path together
My language undeveloped
In this foreign hell.

Still, we created our own understanding
So everything we did together
Like collecting and playing with
Our sticks was always swell.

Benji was stabbed
Gran helped me remove the shards one day
She said people can be cruel
Even to the ones who only knew pure honesty.

Benji was stable,
Grew with health, was tall
And I always sent my allowance to Haiti
For Gran to feed him and give him all

All that I would have given him
If I was still there.
He helped her lug sticks to the pit
Whilst the villagers would fuss or throw a fit.

Benji was hit by a car.
He was struck, he was killed.
And no one claimed to hear anything.
Not a yelp, not a shrill.

His was skin was peeled.
His skin deveined
And I could never understand why people
from this culture could treat animals this way.

Two years later,
What did I see?
A pile of sticks by the well
That Benji had left for me.