A Broken Hound

I always enjoy cyclical work.

I hunt

as best these battered legs will let me

in my limping, lilting gait

I wait

as long as this forgetful mind will let me

hoping I will strike while the iron is hot

I’m taught

as truly as this twisted world can teach me

that when I am alone I cause no pain

I reign

as strongly as this velvet fist will have me

until the bands of iron can wear through

I stew

as warm as these dry pores will leave me

and of heat I bear the brunt

I hunt.