Precious

I didn't like the box. I didn't want to be
Inside the purse. I hoped we'd get to run
And play, but, no, she always carried me.
She said, “Be still.” I couldn't speak.
I was no more than her possession.
When she set me on a chair inside that
Purse, and looked away, I jumped
Because I'm not a toy. I am a dog.
To hell with her. I won't be going
Back.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 72 times
Written on 2016-03-08 at 23:30

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