Cats are actresses. Dogs are porn stars.
I recently saw lonely women compared to dogs
In a woman’s poem—what do you expect from poets?
Their moral apologies, their moral ambiguities, and shame,
As they feel around the real and try to give it a name.
The wagging, slobbering loyalty of a dog
Is an acquired taste. A dog, a kind of sexual partner without sex,
Has saved many a life from pure despair
When otherwise we would go out of our minds
From loneliness our indignant irritation always finds.
You had too many thoughts, didn’t you?
In your desperate loneliness you were not wholly focused,
Like da Vinci, like Mozart, like a dog.
Plenty of men prefer the loyalty of a dog
To anything a fast thinking woman can offer;
A dog can be disgusting, but no person
Will be disgusting for very long. I should know this
But I don’t. The disgusting won’t remain
In the public eye for long. It’s private. Who the fuck knows
How disgusting people can become?
We hate you, women, because
Love is fragile, and females initiated every romance that ever was.