Feeble dogs are licking my name
in the dirt. They are taking on
personas. I feel a bark rising
in my throat. I sense a pack / pact
mentality. I want to stalk and
circle, cower, and whimper. I want
to chase and pull with my teeth.
I want to lick myself, smell my own
cleanliness, smell others and tell of their
intentions. If I come up to you and nip,
will you kick / kiss me? Will you yell /
yelp? I feel my hairs matted down, my
tail / tale starting to wag. I don’t lag /
lack ambition, yet I’m like the stray dog
wandering the yard. People see me.
And some leave out scraps. I’m hungry,
so I feed. And then someone comes out
and wants to pet me. And I see the pack /
pact in the distance. I see the writing
in the dirt as I put my nose to the ground.