Polo has her foot on top of my foot.
Dominance, the dog
books say. Don’t
I let her
as long as she likes.
I ask, What am I going to do, Polo?
Pet me, she says.
Where is Clover? I ask.
She answers, Never mind her.
Clover barks from the backyard at some unseen
Polo leaps off the bed to join the fight
I wait for silence to resume. The house is
still dark. Clover slinks back inside.
I shut the door, pull the lock.
Clover curls at my feet
under the lone lamp lit
in this hour before sunrise.
I hear a plaintive bark through the locked door.
Clover, where’s Polo? I ask.
She does not blink. Who?