The books and papers say
we’re animals and
I suppose that makes for some kind
of half-there excuse
but 50 percent is a failing grade
and I’ve never heard of rabbits
and chickadees
grading any papers anyway.

Leave my lineage out of this
because when I kick you, I
mean to kick you,
especially when you’re
on the bottom,
shins or ass or teeth
or the shit right out of you.

but you cried before then,
plain as day and sure as anything
and when I heard I did not
weep or run or smile and lean closer.
The fingers held tight as hands
and there was solid truth amongst
your self-prescribed chaos.

now breathe.
And clarify with these next breaths
what you really mean to say
when you tell me
that we’re animals.