My Hassles
nip at my feet like French poodles
from Hell,
dirty white fur balls of anxiety
that scratch at my psyche
with their arrogant paws,
annoying my soul with their yip-yip-yip
until I’m strangling them in my dreams,
clobbering them with my foot
into another dimension,
where they sail into a wall with a low thud —
But I shiver at the stretched smile
of their drawn teeth,
for these little monster dogs
have pulled me into the flashing bite of pain,
forcing me to concentrate
on their little miseries
while Love cowers in the corner, whimpering.
But I am in no mood for cowards,
and like a knife to my own heart,
I leave the room.

Physical Borg
10-28-1987