Simply Dogs

we aren’t the Cats clutching 

half-dishevelled pigeons in our jaws

we are simply Dogs 

sniffing our rectums

waiting for dinner to be served,

pissing where others 

have pissed before us, 

making an outstanding fuss 

if we haven’t been socialised 

within our first four months,

we shit our pants waiting 

for mother to wipe our arse, 

we aren’t the cats, 

killing to pass the time 

who flirt with their lives, 

one to nine 

betting on a ten, 

we are simply the Dogs 

howling at the latest runt

pulled from the gutters 

when literatures royalty

desires a new piece of meat

to chew up and spit out

over the floors

of their lecture halls