HALF MAN, HALF DOG
Empirically speaking, I'm half man, half dog.
Half asleep on the couch. Half running naked through the trees,
screaming. It's not fair, and you haven't even asked me yet
what kind of dog. Could make a big difference, Chihuahua or Doberman.
I snatch meat from your hand, then read the Wall Street Journal.
I stay home and howl at the moon. It's a bear, but maybe
it'll shift by my birthday. The promise of June and beaches.
But no one promised, and if they did, who makes the rules?
I use kitchen knives only to cut meat. I grow thankful for opposable thumbs.
I walk around on my hind legs. My back paws are too small for my body.
I shrink and become softer, yet more muscular.
I bare my teeth thrice daily. Is that enough?
I want someone to tell me that I'm a good man.
I want someone to tell me that I'm a good dog.