she was a nightly streak whose blaring trumpets of war
took the form of deep barks as her boy was pursued
by howling snarling beasts, her gentle softness
replaced rapidly by fierce pouncing and chomping teeth
as she fought off the evils tempted by the flesh of
a tiny running boy
she would curl herself up into a mound of fuzz
breathing and moistness in her tongue and i
would let my tears from childhood aches
and schoolyard bullies & my mother and father
as bullies fall within the entangling of her fur
her little death was a simply cracking of my chest
like her teeth sinking into the flesh of other dogs
and her little death was a moistness that no amount
of thick black fur could absorb
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