I watched over my provider's shoulder
as the dogs tore her to shreds.
I wanted to be my brother,
my mother,
who said she earned this life.
I could shout with a forced, earnest viciousness,
or simply avoid looking at her altogether.
But I've imagined sharing her evils,
I've wanted to know what it was like,
and as such,
I've lived a laced and watered version of her world.
Jackle no. 1,
3,
4, and 6,
each her own and different vice.
She raised them from puppies,
brought home bits of uneaten lunch and milk money;
she starved to keep them alive.
When she tried to abort her decisions,
make things right for the family who was so loving as to abandon her,
this is what happened.
These are her friends now,
and no. 9 is at her throat.
