By Charles K. Carter
My father had a tendency
to buy a new pet every three-to-six months
and when their newness wore off,
he’d kick them around or neglect them.
For a few years while growing up,
we had a bloodhound.
She never got much for attention.
She was young and full of sexual energy,
howling night after night
for a little doggy company,
for a little warmth in her cold outdoor enclosure;
until one night she ended up with a bullet between her eyes.
I’m not entirely sure my father didn’t do it,
jealous of her vitality
and eager to play victim of such a loss.
When I approached tender teenhood
with a queer, lustful howl beginning to blossom in my throat,
I knew I needed to break my chains and run
or end up just the same.
Charles K. Carter (he/him) is a queer poet from Iowa. He holds an MFA from Lindenwood University. His poems have appeared in several literary journals. He is the author of ‘Read My Lips’ (David Robert Books, November 2022) and several chapbooks. He can be found on Twitter and Instagram @CKCpoetry.
