/ Spencer Vossman

Poetry1 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.