01-21-2011, 10:36 AM
I Am A Dog
I'll crawl back up inside myself
and on four paws you will find me, one tail, claws, watery eyes, wet nose.
Even if there isn't a wet nose and tail I shall pretend that is how it is.
I watch you, from my spot behind the sofa, on the floor, shaking,
as you read your newspaper, glaring at me "Don't" occasionally over it.
It is as if I had peed in the wrong place, and you remembered it, held onto it, rubbed my wet, dog nose in it.
I roll my eyes, cross my arms in front of each other and rest my head, the pedigree way.
Gentle, animal, snoring lets me wander in my mind
to days when I was playing in the garden, by the rose bushes, and the apple tree.
Where great-grandfather hung a swing, and the older boys I played with dared me to walk across the fishpond; in bare feet across green netting.
A bowl of water on the floor, I whimper for but I do not use words.
Words are meaningless to me now. They were empty and hollow and used only for the threats of mere-mortals who do not know better.
I crawl to your side, like I crawled back up inside myself, and rest my chin on your thigh.
You push me off
and I am terrified. Watery eyed.
Refusal feels much more comfortable in the warm coat of fur
or an old, fluffy blanket.
I am not who they say I am.
I am not a worker.
I do not cry.
I am not a woman.
I do not laugh.
I am a dog.
I am a dog with a name like Buster or Tag or Marla and I cannot communicate.
I will not communicate with you.
I do not want to.
I will bark
at my owner.
"Woof."
See? I am a dog...
"Woof."
... nothing more.
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Haven't been on in a while - hope this is okay, thanks guys =] Now LA as LF was a little to depressing for me
(Literary Antiquity)