Cesar Millan frowns, shrugs
throws in the towel, groans:
I have no answer
she’s a pit/collie mix
the muscled body
of Mike Tyson
the gentle, infinite brain
of Carl Sagan
——-
she won’t cross the kitchen
of this apartment
her pretty paws slip
on lineoleum
so
we chill on the couch, mostly
she talks, I listen
about the mystic energy of squirrels
running across power lines
smiling, devilish cats perched outside
sliding glass doors
and
the finer points of Cartesian thought
we live it up
knocking over beer bottles and parallel Universes
with our tails
