Now I’m thinking of sellouts –
two or three suits in office chairs,
afraid to spin or roll, even on waxed,
white floors that beg for it.
There’s a man with several chins,
bound by tight collar and tie,
squeezing everything up,
like temperature or blood pressure.
How he doesn’t choke is a freaking miracle.
And then there’s the part-time dog breeder,
forcing motherhood on a two-year-old pit bull.
Once the babies are weaned,
she drives the pup to the pound.
“Sorry,” she says at the counter.
“We can’t care for her anymore,”
turns on a designer heel
and heads back to her Mercedes.
If you think I’m judging,
you’re right.
