There is a rottweiler at my throat
his teeth, beginning to pierce.
This hound's wild eyes gloat
in acknowledgement of its feast--
a feast on one so nearly killed.

Vertebrae crunch in the eager jaws
of he who is so directly smothering.
A rumble comes forth from the maw--
A hunger hot with vicious yearning
for flesh untouched by human hands.

I have a rottweiler at my throat
The darkness that he brings over me
brings not the comfort of a land remote...
No relief of pain. No softness, no ease
Just a cold chill and sharp regret.

Then light! Such warming light
A spray of golden sun and air
that fills my lungs and mind alike
as my eyes seize in the glare
of the one to kick the rottweiler's ribs.

Though I had nearly succumbed to the beast's embrace,
the new-comer was quick to bring me back
and gave to me new meaning to the place
on the Earth from which the attack
had nearly pulled me-- to which I had returned.

Oh, the source of this good life,
Who kicked my rottweiler in the side
Sending the animal into the shadows of the night
Broken, wheezing, starving as it cried
for the meal it lost, so close to the kill.

The rottweiler is gone, never to return
to my bruised, tainted throat
but, nights, in my mind his eyes do burn
and bring back pain that was once smote
out of my life by one swift kick.

The one so brave to kick the mutt
is often sweet and warm to me.
Never to take hold on my throat,
wanting no part of this unholy meat.