Dog in a Cone

Dog in a Cone

Leggy, her long, lean body,
patrician nose,
knowing dark eyes
that anchor into mine

When, for her well-being
we slip on the cone
affix it to her collar
her eyes still open
holding on to mine,
she turns to stone
refuses to move
catatonic

This unguarded dog
who sleeps on her back
with her paws in the air,
we force to lie down,
curl her into the shape
of an ordinary dog— 
No standing all night

Eight hours later
no movement
Every paw where it was
eight hours before

We are the cage
there is no crime
yet we have become
her weary wardens

Cone released
She rises, stretches
that long sighthound body
nuzzles us, and trots
out to squat in the yard