pet

who’s pets are we

and are we good? loved?

are we well behaved? is the gentle breeze

on an october afternoon god’s version

of a pat on the head?

are we dangerous? do some of us

need to be muzzled

caged, what about the ones with guns?

and the strays

do they too feel the warm brush of wind

like a scratch behind the ear

or does the wind skip past them

leaving them to be only touched by the rain.

sometimes i think about a dog on a long lead.

how to them, it seems like freedom.

for a moment, caught up in a particularly good smell,

the collar around their neck disappears.

and then they might run. legs kicking up

mud and wet leaves

running towards nowhere in particular but wherever

until. they choke. lead runs out. the rope

taught and alert. collar suddenly back into heavy

existence.

sometimes i think

the only collar we wear

is the one we put around ourselves.