Your
Mutt
by Martin Elster
It’s
funny how I’ll miss your mutt
far more than I’ll miss you.
Each time I lean to taste the dew
upon your lips, you press them firmly
shut
as if your tongue concealed a treasure
you fear I want to steal.
Yet what I want is just to feel
that holding hands with me still gives
you pleasure.
The walks through meadows with your Rover
mean more than any kiss
you loathe to give. It’s her I’ll
miss—
that mutt, not you. The two of us are
over.
Go spend your time with your new mate.
He’d never rub her belly
the way I do. He thinks she’s smelly.
I’ll keep your dog. And you can keep
your date. |
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