All These Animals

(This is an abstract prose poem examining the inside of love as a verb from the opposite direction. Confused? Me too, and I do love you all. Promise. Enjoy.)

They have all these animals running around in the house pooping, eating, rubbing up against your calves, peeing, hay allergies on their faces in various places.

They make noises at night that make you feel slight.

What’s with all these animals?

They’ve got names like Odin and Mittens and Mickey and Orey, and I’m pretty sure the animals themselves don’t know those names.

But, then again, do I really know my own name? Do I call myself by the name Mark? I do not think so. No, I don’t.

Odin’s in my lap right now, licking the outdoor scum off his paws with his tongue. What’s going on, buddy? What’s going on?

He spreads his paws wide as I stroke his fur and tickle his chin.

Bunghole.

I call him, Mr. Duker and say, “You’re yawning, Mr. Duker. Why are you yawning? You’ve been napping all bloody day.”

He digs his claws into my shorts , and I yelp and say, “Don’t do that, Mr. Duker. Why’d you do that?”

Now it’s growing late and I’m yawning and saying, “Oh my fucking god. Mr. Duker was right. Love is a verb.”