And I've Been Putting Out Fire With Gasoline...

I wake in the morning,
I feed, I water.
I wash, I wipe.
I open the curtains.
I put on the coffee.
I make the donuts.
I sit
and I wait.
And as soon as it opens its eyes,
I am the enemy.
This is what happens when you invite something wild into your home.
With no concept of family,
or nurturing, or partnership.
A musk rises up-
spreads thin through the space,
leaving a film of entitlement.

I walk out every day,
come back with packages
of food and drink and trinkets.
I spend every dollar I have to do it,
yet nothing is mine.
And as soon as I step through the entry,
I am the enemy.
This is what happens when you invite something wild into your home.
With no concept of gratitude,
or compromise, or empathy.
A hunter rises up-
takes over the space,
leaving bits of resentment and bone.

I lay down to sleep,
I scratch, I sniff.
I burrow, I bury.
I lick my wounds.
I sharpen my claws.
And as soon as I close my eyes...

This is what happens when you invite something wild into your home.