Aye, Sir — we are curs,
And the beast in us is yet unexorcised.
We are spurned —
From thresholds where hunger compels us
To wag a tail in lieu of dignity.
Stones, not bread, rain down on us,
When we assemble —
Unified not by creed or cause,
But by survival’s primal hymn.
Who would adopt us?
Why should mercy extend its velvet glove
To mongrels that cost nothing?
Affection, dear Sir,
Is the province of the pedigreed —
Of those whose worth
Is measured not by soul, but by price tags.
We are unworthy, Madam,
Even for a fleeting photograph.
Selfies are reserved
For the exquisite and exorbitant.
We — unsightly, unfashionable —
Are denied both portrait and pity.
Decor adorns the pampered.
Empathy kneels before the beautiful.
Yet we are laughed at —
By the so-called civilized,
When six or seven of us
Clamor over a single bitch,
Like deranged brutes in heat.
Yes, Sir, we are dogs —
We brawl and bite,
Driven by instinct’s blind yearning.
We mate in daylight,
Awaiting our sordid turn,
In queues that know no shame.
Nature denied us speech,
But gifted us ears —
Sharp and perpetual.
We hear, Sir —
That men have outgrown their beastliness,
That they are civilized, evolved.
And oh, how envious we grow —
To learn that humans do not chase
The same female,
Nor foam, nor wag,
Nor bare their fangs in lust.
Our envy festers deepest, Madam,
When we’re told —
They no longer even stand in line.
So refined are they,
That passion knows no protocol.
Let it be, Sir.
We are but dogs.
All we know is how to bark.
We are uncultivated,
We are feral —
And our beastliness still breathes.
When we bark,
We are dismissed —
Chased with sticks or stones.
Yes, Sir — we are dogs,
And our primal nature remains intact.
Yet even in this forsaken form,
We offer you a benediction —
That someday, you might lead us
Out of this savagery,
That you might civilize us.
Yes, Sir, we are dogs —
Stray, unlettered, undignified.
Yes, Madam —
We bark,
And that is all we know.
And the beast in us is yet unexorcised.
We are spurned —
From thresholds where hunger compels us
To wag a tail in lieu of dignity.
Stones, not bread, rain down on us,
When we assemble —
Unified not by creed or cause,
But by survival’s primal hymn.
Who would adopt us?
Why should mercy extend its velvet glove
To mongrels that cost nothing?
Affection, dear Sir,
Is the province of the pedigreed —
Of those whose worth
Is measured not by soul, but by price tags.
We are unworthy, Madam,
Even for a fleeting photograph.
Selfies are reserved
For the exquisite and exorbitant.
We — unsightly, unfashionable —
Are denied both portrait and pity.
Decor adorns the pampered.
Empathy kneels before the beautiful.
Yet we are laughed at —
By the so-called civilized,
When six or seven of us
Clamor over a single bitch,
Like deranged brutes in heat.
Yes, Sir, we are dogs —
We brawl and bite,
Driven by instinct’s blind yearning.
We mate in daylight,
Awaiting our sordid turn,
In queues that know no shame.
Nature denied us speech,
But gifted us ears —
Sharp and perpetual.
We hear, Sir —
That men have outgrown their beastliness,
That they are civilized, evolved.
And oh, how envious we grow —
To learn that humans do not chase
The same female,
Nor foam, nor wag,
Nor bare their fangs in lust.
Our envy festers deepest, Madam,
When we’re told —
They no longer even stand in line.
So refined are they,
That passion knows no protocol.
Let it be, Sir.
We are but dogs.
All we know is how to bark.
We are uncultivated,
We are feral —
And our beastliness still breathes.
When we bark,
We are dismissed —
Chased with sticks or stones.
Yes, Sir — we are dogs,
And our primal nature remains intact.
Yet even in this forsaken form,
We offer you a benediction —
That someday, you might lead us
Out of this savagery,
That you might civilize us.
Yes, Sir, we are dogs —
Stray, unlettered, undignified.
Yes, Madam —
We bark,
And that is all we know.
