Dog

I am a dog. I’m quiet as toes, until the house wakes up.
The first order, stretch like a sneer, and then
I shall eat the cat’s food.

That cat thinks itself a superior sway with its pink ribbon
and bell around its neck, but it looks a true fool,
and I told it so.

So the cat and I are beastly and hateful right now. Hussy.
I trod off, a stroll to sniff out more breakfast.
There’s a brown bag on the floor;

it smells like cat. Triumph. Cats don’t fight fair, usin' claws,
so I savage that bag. And kill it. It’s empty …
but it smells like cat. Close ‘buff.

And I smell the house waking up, it’s that sniff of soapy
water and grey static. It's a clean
behind the ears smell, and

it makes me want to roll in mud. I bet the cat wishes it
was a dog. You never see people throw
chunks of pork chop at a cat.

Darned cat is too uppity to pose for food. But for now,
I'll just wait in the kitchen, wait quiet as toes
for that hateful cat to appear.