The beast is as surprised to be called

as you are it wags its tail. Why?

Neither can pretend polite society. 

You were made for this dance: your words,

its fits, both wagging. Who jumps the rope

if both turn an end? It must be the third,

the one no one wanted but who wore

her sneakers and sings Miss Mary Mack. 

Who hates whom, and who gets to?

It makes better sense to collapse

as one, than keep away.

But that’s not today’s game.