I’ll wear paths behind barbed wire, deep,
start a tunnel every three feet. Pit bull
waiting my chance — growl, howl, foam,
bite any hand holding a phone. I know
moist treats, meaty bones, all will be
distant memory once I escape,
hit the street. I’ll crap lawns, kill cats,
chase Amazon trucks, police, priests,
make veterinarians not charge a fee.
I’ll torture hydrants with angry pee.