I panther over on stalking feet. where is
my stinky goodness to make my
evening complete? where is my lap?
and where are the toes for me to rub
my cheeks on, and for my itchy nose?
where are the fingers to massage my ears
and scalp? and your clothes, they smell
of dog. honestly, (yawn). You’re good help,
but you know you’re late. An early wake-up
for you tomorrow; that’s your slated fate.