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.