the dog

i am home alone when the dog first comes
to the back door with a mouth full of meat.
it has not rained for weeks & i do not have
a finger left to feed her. she wants a television
& a secret. i offer her one of mine. 
it is not enough because it is never enough.
she eat all of our left shoes. she says, 
"this is for your own good." when you come home
you blame me for letting her in. you throw
the shoes at the ugly moon.
i want to ask you, "but has the dog
ever come when you were alone?" you are furious.
we eat plain rice until we're sick. when the dog returns.
the house is full of worms. i am plucking them out
one by one. the dog tells me to stop. she says,
"we need them." i gesture to the damp & rotting house.
i try to explain that we have to survive.
that we have to make mac & cheese & turn
the television on & even sometimes smile
even though there are gnats in the fridge. 
the dog is angry just like you. i don't understand
why everyone is always angry & then i feel like
a little kid again in the kitchen with my mouth full
of meat. you cannot run away from hunger.
you cannot run away from anger even though
i have been trying. 
the dog will come. the dog will find you & howl.
pawing at the back door. you say to me,
"why would you let them in?" i whimper. 
i try to explain how hard it is to watch
an animal beg. haven't you ever been a crying beast?
the dog needs a nail trim & a box of donuts.
she needs a window to watch the cars go by
& a servant to give her whatever she can dream of. 
i whisper to you in the deepest pit of night,
"what if we keep her?" you roll over, having been
asleep & ask, "who?" 
"the dog," i say. "i need to keep the dog."