For every dog a day job.
Some steal skeleton keys from closets.
Others dance with Death’s head Hawkmoths,
or bite the gloved fist that rocks the world.
The oddities yelp at the top of their iron lungs
chasing the tail of the dogstar
to the other side of the story
book burning the midnight oil drums,
they throw sticks and stones from ivory towers,
or bark up the wrong family tree.
They don’t rest ‘til they’ve had their day.
Then it’s off to the dog house.
Isn’t life a bitch?