Belle of the Ball

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 Belle of the Ball

Does anything feel as good

as being praised by

the head of class?

“Oh, I like that.”

“Good! Good!” I wag

my tail, tap my feet.


Days later, I’m still

curling my toes over it,

in some other worldly room,

satisfaction and delight

whirring in and out my hot, dark nostrils.


“Ah, but you’re still new.”

My inner critique says,

“The room is rented.

Just wait, you’ll see.” Like three

of four, I await (the elders too,

for my copy-cat demise)


the latest new arrival.

Rival, rival, come

out! I’m ready to spar,

but not fight.


In fact, come to think of it

I’d rather sit back down,

tell myself I

let you win. 

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