A confusing dog roams among us
making us laugh into others’ eyes
or hate others laughing;
Oh sweet cur,
go lap someplace else,
go slobber into another’s soup,
we need you not here.
Your need to bark should stay silent.
Your comfort with scatological exhibitionism
is a secret blessing, best kept away.
The dog still runs among many,
betraying silent nothings.
Little puppy, stay thee silent, away.
Your hypnotic scratching makes me want to sleep.
Spiral yourself to sleep too, strange canine,
or have someone put thee down.
One thought on “Hour 18 – Sores”
“sweet cur” a nice juxtaposition…if that’s the word. Thank you for sharing.