My lips tingled
and curled laconically
around my four-fingered
paw, begging with
saline muteness
for my master's snare
to harness my memory,
for the last time.
I tightened my jaw,
pretending I didn't hear
grind, crow, swipe
of his one-eyed razor.
Impulsively I asked
if my bedraggled mane
could be cropped,
for I knew he would
display my shavings,
and never clean off
their gems.
