Puppy

There was this childhood that thought it was a puppy.

It followed me around everywhere, whimpering

and begging to be fed.

It was a puppy, yes, but a terribly ugly puppy.

It was riddled with all sorts of repulsive diseases.

The vet said the diseases were treatable. I said

I was sick of it hanging around. I’d lost friends and lovers

because of it. Made all sorts of wrong career moves

and impulse buys. I didn’t mention the nightmares.

She told me I had two options.

One was an injection from which the puppy wouldn’t wake.

The other was a kennel where, perhaps in time, someone else

would take pity on it, take it home, groom it up into

a fine dog.

This childhood that thought it was a puppy

howled as I walked from the iron bars. I didn’t look back.

Sometimes still I wake to find drool on my face and paw prints

up and down my bed.