She has a way of staring;
It drives me nuts to see.
I want to turn and say to her,
“Quit gazing holes through me!”

Unblinking and undaunted,
She keeps the will to fight.
I want to glare, but then, the air
Grows nervy from the blight.

There’s something in the eyesight
That’s forceful all its own.
I look away, but can’t allay
The sense I’m not alone.

I don’t know what to tell her;
What could I think to say?
Since what she sees is what she gets
My guilt’s an ambuscade.

She’s got that way of staring…
It makes me want to scream:
“Now get along! You’re just a dog—
What’d you expect of me?”