A poem from two angry Novembers ago. No dogs were harmed in the process, though one man was.
By: Mo Cunningham
You can talk, talk, spit, slobber, talk,
And I can hear, hear, wince, pretend,
Not pretend to care
but pretend you’re not talking!
You’ve put me in a house,
You think you’re him so I must be her,
but if we’re playing pretend,
playing house,
I think of you more like
the family dog.
We’re playing pretend,
and you are my dog,
and you, you, you roll around in nonsense
and dig holes into logic
and you’d do anything
for a Bone.
But me, me, I,
I watch, watch, follow,
follow you, you,
watch you shit all over everything,
and I, I, I have to pick it up.
I deserve this!
I wanted the mess,
I wanted the dog.
We’re playing pretend,
but you,
you are real,
and I have your shit in a bag.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Mo Cunningham (she/they) is an artist living and breathing in Philadelphia. Find more of their work via @mosharts_.