Skyscraper Dog Cone
Let's workshop this poem about a collie in a high-rise apartment who exhibits multiple signs of depression and suffering (like pyotraumatic dermatitis, which the owners hope a collar cone will fix).
Skyscraper Dog Cone —for Mike Shaw, who made Gizmo’s life a good one Fur thins in Manhattan at the base of its tail, the slimy pink site of pre-walk combover (too pathetic for Sunday parks now, even with hairspray) where the collie nibbles itself in cooped insanity over nine-to-fives bottling piss and shit at a pawed pane to the sky.
