The Dog’s Body
Bitch. Fucking Bitch, Mister spits through his teeth.
His snarling startling me from sleep. –– I stay.
My tail low, beats the leg of the table I’m beneath.
The barking abates – she waits, looks away, plays
dead. Silence…but I hear hearts and smell fear in sweat,
Mister ain’t done yet! She yelps yanked by scruff of neck.
No mess, no wet, and still he pins her nose to carpet.
My head cocks a couple of degrees to the left, ears erect,
as I come muzzle-to-face with my wounded kennel mate.
‘Haps she didn’t fetch, heel, or return when he whistled.
She breaks. Submits –– lets the alpha male dominate. Cowers,
placates him; shows she knows “good girls” do as they are told.
Mister eats. I lick my salty balls then sleep, cos in the end…
I’ll be alright Jack –– life is sweet, for a man's best friend.
- Cheyelle Omar
For more Poems from the Ropewalks, click the 'Poems from the Ropewalks' label (below).
COPYRIGHT ©2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: CHEYELLE OMAR
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