Fired Like a Dog

I tell my dog that she is fired. She

regards me, head cocked and floppy ears

each lifted slightly; whatever it is she hears

and apprehends, she snorts, and squats, and pees

on the hardwood floor; this appears to please

her to no end; she pirouettes and yowls,

beagle-body pitching, feet to jowls,

fully engaged, unlike a human: we

are idiomatic, every sound reflects

an abstracted actuality; we mean,

even when we’re speaking gibberish; we try

to fold the world into sequenced sound. Our pets,

the wild animals, the wind-shook green

leaves mean nothing, don’t know that they will die.