Saturday Night Hounds
They climbed
resuming the mongrel form,
The twelve.
A catcalling mob
burdened by sympathetic stimulants,
Procured from the neck.
Yippering yowls
break from a youth,
Torn from thick, incongruous lips.
As a pack
they leap onto the quivering metal,
Slender paws slapping on ice.
Ice all round;
leering...over bearing... ungracious ice
To aid their whimpering might.
Copyright © Bethany Chipperfield | Year Posted 2012
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