devolution

i was a dog.
i came when you called,
sat at your feet by the fireplace even when the coals
were too close, too hot
for comfort.
things like that don’t matter when you’re sitting in the lap of your
master.
the collar was too tight around my throat,
and i’d veer off the sidewalk when you took me out
in the hopes that i’d choke.
there’s a spot at the edge of the bed for me.
i’m supposed to be honoured by this scrap.
your wife lies in the cold spot next to you,
and i’m obliged to take what’s offered, because
your scraps are better than meagre me.
right?

wrong, says the wolf.
she peels back my layers and slips out of my skin.
her teeth are sharper and when master calls,
when he pulls the leash taut and i can feel the spit dribble down over my maw,
i feel his fingertips at the back of my throat
and bite.
your wife lies in the cold spot next to you,
a cold and perfect two.
the foot of the bed feels like ice.