ALMA'S DOGS
David E. Cowen
panting in a pack
as if watching a hand
waiving a piece of moist, bloody meat
she seems to savor the moment
standing behind the wrought iron fence
with spiked posts
seeing them laugh at any jokes she tells
watching their eyes follow her hips and breasts
as she exaggerates her movements
some flexing their arms
some pruning their hair
some stroking themselves
she chooses one for the old mattress
under the crawlspace under the house
admonishing the others to return the next day
confident in her power
she lays back on the soiled bedding
as the chosen dog has his meal
her scapular of the virgin
folded neatly in her shoes.
