The Night the Dog Came

he stood beside the front door
dingling a small bell
and its sound was pleasant
yet no one moved.

we all saw a certain
wickedness in the smile,
long tongue
licking its black lips,
its short hair lilting
with each breath it took.

someone put on Handel, hoping
for momentary distraction,
but we still sat on fluffed up
couches staring into cold
dog eyes while it smirked,
ringing the bell
in some odd way, its tail
rampant with messages,
clanging against the door’s
hard oak,
slapping a drummer’s beat
to provoke us on the holiday,
a cold sleet bouncing off
the porch windows,
a pile of icy nuggets
looming to be shoveled away.