My dog is possessed.
It’s HIS bone.
He now sits outside, day and night
one eye closed, one eye open
his prized possession in reach.
For him
possession is 100% of the law.
Walking near
THE bone
gets you a low, low
groooooooowl
“It’s mine”!, he says.
He’d make a good capitalist.
Just imagine if he had an army!
So many more bones, all his!
How many more bones of his victims
piled up
cherished and possessed
day and night
while all the other dogs
in the neighborhood
wet, wanting, outside
dream of more.
