Dog Days

I’m the kind of hound that sniffs
out trouble; waddles through
roses to bury my nose
in excrement and roll in it.

Or is it that betrayal hounds me,
lures me with puppy dog eyes
tail wagging promises of loyalty
tricking my sentimental heart?

More like I’m the mutt begging
for scraps, ear scratching, or
belly rubbings, a canine whore
slutting for any attention.

Failure is a four-legged mangy
beast that caught my scent
long ago, trailed me, whining;
why did I agree to feed it?

No show dog here, just mixed
breed, scrap yard variety mongrel,
digging through the garbage heap
trying to find a dang old bone.