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Two Pit Bulls & a Bone

ISSUE:  Spring 2019


It is difficult to bark while 
the teeth are clinched 

so it goes, deep growl 
after mean-ass growl 

and tug. The oldest holds 
her jaw low and doesn’t 

cease her pull and the mud 
slings but not the thing 

the dogs won’t let go of. 
Scraped, inedible and nothing 

is left on the bone that 
is no bone or for dogs 

to chaw on. I ask from my 
head amongst the sick 

commotion, what could 
force me to fight for things 

that are not there. How form 
might make a difference 

in who might fix their fists 
to fight for some real shit. 

Neither of the dogs authored 
the thing but invest their teeth 

in the thrash of blood 
and ripped up brawn 

slush and constant Delta 
rainwater. No one wants it 

more than dogs and no one but 
the dogs will fight. So we let them 

mix the mud and blood, the bone
saliva drenched and fractured 

and the fight feels closer 
to pride than it is to hunger

closer to territory or seniority 
than it is the mortality 

these bitches go to work in. 
And what have the teeth been 

after all this time? What drove 
this one bitch to want 

the dry bone badder than
this other bitch did?  



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