he's a runt
he snarls and scratches
chases cars
growls in his sleep
and has perfect scars above each eyebrow
we hear it outside;
he's rippin' the fuck outta somethin' out there
5 times his
size
it's that rich bitch's dog from 'cross the street
that educated, expensive, bluebook dog
oh boy...we're all in trouble
I yank 'em apart
and we run inside with the fucker
bolt the door
turn out the lights
see them comin' across the street
immaculate & concerned
looks like 7 or 8 people
comin' to get their
dog
that pretty bag o flesh with fur...
he ought to know better than to cross
the railroad tracks
