Flea Ridden

Digesting the hands that used to feed me
Remembering bone crush
Splatter quick
Bite down
I have never been good
For you or anyone else
You call me poor thing
call me rescue case
Leave a bowl of food for me
But the trash runs smooth on my throat
So I leave a few bites behind and
Deny the promise to come back

Outside in the 32 degree heat
Shivering on your doorstep
I bite at domesticity
Snap at your fingers
But lean in
for another moment of gentle
The fleas in my ears tell me
That the feral between my teeth
Will always mark me as too rough to please
You call me a good dog
While old blood churns my stomach

Uncollared and unaware
I leave dead birds on your doorstep
Like diamond rings and love songs
I will never cross the threshold
Only play centurion at your gate
Snapping at ankles

In mid July
When you find me in the street
Tongue rolling swollen through my canines
Bury me in the back yard with your childhood best friend
Let the marrow tell you
You did the best you could

Hunger marks my grave

-D.V