howling, howling, howling at the moon.

i am not proud but that makes me not the beast.
dogs are such loyal things, don't you think?

{originally, this was a prose piece i wrote for class, re-formatted to be a poem.}

We trek down to the riverbed
Me, you, and the black lab, 
Luce.  

Against my better judgment 
I agree to a game
of hide-and-seek. 

When I hesitate, you laugh
and lean in to say, 
"There's no beasts in these woods, 
little girl." 
before you run off with the dog,
lapping at your feet.

I count to a hundred 
and come find you,
heart beat, beat, b e a t

When the skies darken and 
the moon is at its peak, 
I find you hiding 
near a creek, 
cradling our dead dog 
as you weep. 

As I approach, I'm 
a foot taller than before 
with nastier teeth. 
But I smile my best, 
nonetheless.

"Found you," I cheer
before the dog rises 
and you know
god's lost his way
as you go down to a deep dark sleep.

The End

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