He used to be a man,
but he woke up with a poochy face stuck on his head.
He want to be a human, but he scratches the fleas off his back instead.
He stares at the sky.
He wants to cry. He doesn’t understand why he’s a Dogboy.
Licking big black balls in the wind and rain, just because he can.
He’s miserable in canine skin. It can happen again.
He isn’t man’s best friend
with his nose in the poo-poo where he squatted in the den.
All of us have Dogboys living inside.
Living inside of us.
Eats, shits and sleeps. Pats on the head from the master. Woof.
Chasing birds in the yard.
Chasing Pontiac cars for no reason except that he’s a Dogboy.
Drinking water from the pool.
He slobber and drool with the joyful rapture.
Munching on a chicken bone. He vomit it up. He bury it after.
No, I’m a boy!
No, you’re a dogboy.