Fired Like a Dog

Culture, Economy, Poetry, The Life of the Mind, Things that Actually Happen, Uncategorized

I tell my dog that she is fired. She
regards me, head cocked and floppy ears
each lifted slightly; whatever it is she hears
and apprehends, she snorts, and squats, and pees
on the hardwood floor; this appears to please
her to no end; she pirouettes and yowls,
beagle-body pitching, feet to jowls,
fully engaged, unlike a human: we
are idiomatic, every sound reflects
an abstracted actuality; we mean,
even when we’re speaking gibberish; we try
to fold the world into sequenced sound. Our pets,
the wild animals, the wind-shook green
leaves mean nothing, don’t know that they will die.

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