A poem that thinks it’s a dog

I’m hungry. I think.
I want to bite
the invisible blowy thing
on the other side of the door.
My nose is wet,
but I feel sick.
Maybe they’re tears.
My legs aren’t working.
A moving tail
isn’t the full story.
I’m hungry. I think.
I keep going in circles.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s