Today's poem is by Sarah Messer

Rabid Dog

Finally, at the wedding reception,
he politely leaned over
and bit the waist of a neighbor.

She passed a tray of canapés, saying
"The best thing to do is take him
out behind the barn and shoot him!"
A stutter oflaughter, then doom.
Her bangs flipping back like tidal waves.

After all, her husband was a stray dog—
in the yard he carried a mirror
on his back, his eyes flowering.
He spent his days in the city
snapping at bees, getting his nose stung.
In the evening, he returned
with mouthfuls of fur.

Truth is: she had been his wife
two hours when she chose
a new lover—what was his name?
(In the cramped dark fumbling,
smell of chlorine, an entire forest
of brooms falling.) When they were
through, a bare bulb exposed
the tiny room: he wore a beard, and
in the janitor's sink he washed
his hands over and over again
like a raccoon.

Copyright © 2016 Sarah Messer All rights reserved
from Dress Made of Mice
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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