Love Angry

I
love
angry

and damn the weakness
that keeps me slinking back to the stick
like a cowed dog
waiting for the driest bone,
the faintest word of praise,
the touch of a salt lick hand.
Damn as weakness
all my fine fetching,
my seven howls,
my traitorous belly
exposed
and quivering
for your fingers.

I love angry,
but you murmur soft nonsense
into my sore silence, and

I heel,
sit,
stay,

and seethe
behind my blunted teeth.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads