Regalia

A poodle lives like a shadow. It is not ill-treated, just ignored, so it moves from room to room but stays away from her couch. The place is littered with her underclothes, discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee. I had no idea why these things all came to rest here scattered around her like that. To me, she seemed to rule them all; displaying them as a kind of sovereign insignia. I was an occasional pal of her son. Once she fed a newborn from her own white flesh. The soft upholstery seemed to settle around her, closing its wide mouth about them both, including all the discarded clothing. The poodle wandered away, perhaps sensing it would could never be part of her regalia.