“Mutts”
“So cute. . . but don’t come home with another dog.”
She thrust the knife out in her hand,
(Glinting.)
Waving teasingly in replacement of her veiled irritation.
No mutts.
Not the soft whines from downstairs,
Bouncing off the concrete walls ,
The drags of nails upon the door that drove her to the very end and back
(Mewling, barreling)
“I want nuthin left to do with em.”
(Click, click, click)
The knife thumped against the cutting board.
I placed the picture on the cold granite next to her, nudging it forward.
Brown halos glistened,
Batting,
And the earthy black holes darted back,
narrowed.
Fingers curled upon the grip,
(Thump, thump, thump)
The door rattled,
“Take care of the one in the basement. No mess! . . . And we’ll get that new un’. Take care of him good!”