Bitch Diary

Porco cane! Another day breaks 
with a gunshot and a chorus 
of yelping bloodhounds after boar. 

I ache to join in, but stay quiet, loyal 
dog-pig that I am. Pig-dog. 
Purebred cur in a pen: Sono io. 

The hunt's trained out of me. 
Bark and growl, the baser instincts, 
I renounced them long ago. 

My tail springs up 
like an erection 
at the smell of animal, 

but the chase 
is forbidden. Always, 
my inner down girl! 

prevails. It never fails. 
Not for me the bait of barnyard cats 
and wild-goose foxes. I know 

not to waste my nose 
on vulgar game 
or public sport.

I save myself
for the hidden 
and vegetal.

I stalk the peculiar scent, wave
my tail like a secret banner when I catch the smell,
and follow the musk in silence

with a steady walk
to the still,
earthbound thing.

I paw the surface for a sign
--root-mold, fungus, spore--
then dig and claw

just to the tip of the tuber
till desire trumps dirt and 
I lift the truffle.

I keep my panting discreet 
and always deliver.
God, I am one good dog.

My mantra: Abhor blood.
Leave the surface to others;
dwell in the underworld. 

--Peg Boyers