These Mutts are Near

But yes, they’re mad at you.
A dog without a leash. 
They say,
“You’re exactly what we thought
you were.”
To which, you reply, “I’m exactly
what you made me.”
Bill gawps over his sips of coffee
and sucks his gums 
through his buck teeth. 
Then contends, “yeah,
we thought you’d say something like that.”
You look down painfully at the 
pattern of blood branching
at your chest and collapse. 
Bill takes off your collar.
The others remove your head
and your horns. 
He admonishes 
while admiring your
recent amputation,
“shoulda just given ‘em up,
I ‘spose"
and picks sinew
from his cynocepahlic mouth.

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