/ Spencer Vossman
Poetry — 1 min reading time
come! stop! heel! out!
what you hear, translated
to the language of beasts:
come and bite the insolent fingers that
dare pet you;
lead with the canines, little Death.
print fanged signatures into the
back of my hands, two uncivil
chew toys made animate.
place your front paws on a
stop-gap stairway leading to the
couch – for now, you’re too young to
leap up with no help.
perform that lovely aria for me as you
climb: your string-sectioned
whine during wiggly transit, your ferocious boom of a
bark to demand attention. by all means,
burrow into the crevice between seat cushions
sniff out the sacred burial ground of dropped dog treats, the
waste of failed training attempts.
dig your razor-nailed
heel into faded leather hell.
jump back down to
piss on the tile floor
release a puddle of puppy shame,
stare up with doe eyes to
melt hearts with pitiful apology. quickly now,
unleash your reign of terror outside!
beware this dog, flower beds; you are
out for blood. choose your poor targets
tear their roots up and
trot back in from the yard,
greet me with a
smile caked in flower gut. ball of fire, how you
wear yourself down - time for a nap! so
sleep on my chest
curl into furred pillbug
saw logs into my belly as I
do nothing I need to and
accomplish everything useless.
guess this is okay. we’ll just
do nothing together.