Autumn Sky Poetry . . . Number 17 . . .
 

My sister's Chihuahua in heat

     by Kristen Stone



humps the golden lab, that majestic old man

his white eunuch’s face twisting only slightly in disgust

as she rubs her bird’s hips on his leg, his tail.

Once his face. She knows this comes from somewhere

but where?


It is a big joke to everybody

we call her nasty, tell her she’s a girl dog

that’s not how it works, Ophelia


but I understand the way she sneaks

running to her companion the big white dog

long-suffering to her brown bat self;

the way she looks at him for a moment

seeking fulfillment and I wonder

at my changed, farmer relationship

to evolutionary science.


her big ears perk and she runs desperately

checking that nobody’s looking:

three week’s shouts of Fifi he doesn’t like that and

you’re a girl have not made her stop

but she has learned to look before leaping into coitus

her small brain knows:

don't get caught longing.










Kristen Stone is a Florida native who lives in southwest Michigan at a summer camp while working on her MFA at Goddard College. She likes farm animals, bikes, and mixed metaphors.

© 2010 Kristen Stone