24 June 2011

The Game

Hailey pounces!
I see her coming.
I try to evade,
Sidestep my attacker,
To no avail.

The jagged and prickly
Grass blades rise up
Like bars to trap me.

Her teeth sink,
Piercing my soft, woven skin.
My white, cottony entrails
Poke, painfully through
The fresh, bloodless wounds.
Her jaws grip decisively.
And, oh, if only
That wrenching grasp
Would finally be fatal
And end my torrid misery
In scraps and saliva-damp shreds
Of my tattered body.

But it is not.

Again, I am returned
And pried violently from her
Unagreeing incisors,
Only to be lobbed once more
Into that perilously high arc,
Letting even Gravity play his part
In my gruesome torture ritual.
With a thud,
I hit the ground
And a puff of white fluffiness
Pops out from my torn skin,

Floating feathery above me
For only moments
Before it is devoured.

Then, quickly, a brief respite of quiet,
Then the panting,
And the cycle renews
As I hear that
Evil word:


I feel like a bit of a cheat. This poem is not new. When i first started this blog, I intended it for only new ideas. I've actually posted a few poems from my past, such as this one with only minor revisions. I won't try to think of how long ago I wrote it. Anyway, I noticed that it fits perfectly with this week's Thursday Think Tank at Poets United. So here.


  1. It does fit perfectly with the prompt. Love it. : )

  2. Wonderful! It took me only a second to realize what you were describing and then smiled as the rest of the poem unfolded. I now will look at dog toys with a sense of compassion. Ha.

  3. I feel sorry for my dogs' poor toys too! They love to rip the stuffing out of them. I find it all over my carpet and the toys look like roadkill!

  4. This is wonderful! I can just imagine it. :-)