Stand Off - Phyllis Laughlin

We adjust,
you and I,
tails down,
ears back,
sniffing hindquarters,
scenting the hidden criticism
behind each well-timed
"What do you mean by that?"
I stubbornly bark
and prance
at every gesture of assistance,
squatting next to 
my post of independence
while you crouch
over the bone
of your manhood.
The rope of compromise
lies tattered
on the claw-marked carpet
from our tug-of-war
of great minds
not thinking alike.
But,
when the clouds unleash
and the thunder calls us
to our den,
you nustle,
         whuffle,
                  lick
me until I turn
and offer you
my belly
once again.






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