Love Is a Dirty Dog
Years running with the dogs of hell should have killed me
Your first love is the puppy faze,
the cuddles, belly rubs with legs
in the air, sloppy licks on the face,
maybe even humping on the leg
in public places. We forgive the
messes on the floor, the gnawing,
the ceaseless barking when other
dogs come around. My first puppy
you sigh, I can’t wait to show
this one to my parents, look at
those big eyes and soft fur, please
be my cuddly wubbly forever.
You get older, the puppies
sniff at you, laugh, scamper
away, you now too old for
the young and perpetually
cute, time for the dogs from
hell to seek you out. You sniff
each other at a bar (is that still
how it is done), plan a playdate,
and romp naked in your kennel,
toys chewed into pieces, howling
that sets the neighbors pounding on
your door, and morning light finds
you alone, the back of your pants
shredded, wondering if you have
all the proper shots in case that
dog was rabid.
