Dogmatism

My dog is black and white
Bred by a Lab
In Staffordshire
That’s what the rescue people said
The progeny of two humping canines from different sides of town
Like a wonder bra gone wrong
Breasts pointing in opposite directions
Neither willing to concede so much as an arc minute of a degree to the other
Each cup with its own little zip
A nursing bra
With secret doors
Opening upon
Separate worlds
The heart and soul of the matter
With its anti-matter nipple
Waiting to annihilate us all
In a ripple of erotic gamma rays
Each New Found Land
A blissful peace
Swarming with cod
Shrouded in fishnet hosiery
Hauled from the shallows by Labs
Bra doors hermetically sealed once more
Off bounds to prying hands and eyes
Oblivious to cod piece, dog drool, pies
Of eels and other lascivious writhing
Creatures from the wrong side of wetland dreams
Wherein my schemes of lust and carnal deviation
Flounder with the flapping cod
As Jet, our dog,
More pinky brown than black and white
Launches full flight upon our bed and licks my face and says
‘I need a poop
The garden’s full
You’ll have to take me to the beach
You fool’
Later I find a bone wrapped in her bra
Buried beneath the doormat
And wonder at his inconsistent dogmatism