The Coup

I sleeplessly flutter my eyes

To the long howling bark

Of my landlord's dog.

Is it her unanimous pledge

To the distant cry of others 

Of her kind? or,

Tonight, like every other,

They're celebrating the 

Delusion of dead humans?

Sometimes, I like to fancy this,

As a battle cry for an attack 

To overthrow our subjugation.

But then out of sheer loathe

Towards this bitch downstairs,

I would like to think of her-

As a petty snitch.

Who has been sent here to 

Spy upon us. 

To the lure of food and

Shelter.. or her own

Stockholm syndrome.

She seems to have betrayed 

Her tribe. To howl now, 

At this hour; for a display of-

Her fake allegiance to

Her lost comrades, who,

Hopelessly wait for her cues,

For a coup.