"All men are dogs, or wolves,"
he said, cigarette protruding, dangling.
"So some of us are loyal."
I was waiting by the hearth, a poker
by my side. "And I suppose I'm the moon,"
I said, blinking furiously. "Or is that
too silly?" A dog from the pound's
gonna have a history,
and some of it might not be pretty.
He might growl if he thinks
you're being a bully.
Still, it's too silly to be truly wanted,
so I'm cowering in the corner.
"You aren't going to bite me,
are you? Just howl?" I ask.
"If you're the moon,
do I have a choice?"