THE only dog getting eaten today is you, she says,
apropos of nothing, and I picture her
licking barbecue sauce off my severed fingers
We are watching the space shuttle disintegrate
again and again in the atmosphere,
all the mechanical pieces and pieces of the astronauts
spread out over New Mexico, Texas,
and thirteen counties in Arkansas

I tell her I would buy her the Prada Moon
but instead she wants me to buy knee pants, a tiny backpack,
and a T-shirt with a Sanrio Hello Kitty character,
so that I can pretend to be her little boy
You're my little rice boy, she says,
round-headed and round-eyed,
you follow me like a little lap dog

They are picking up scraps of charred shuttle and mission commander
out of a corn field and she is telling me I love her
only because of the way her eyes slant
and how good she looks in black
I decide to reassure her but instead
I am drawn into the news reporter's constant repetitions

I tell her it's a dog eat dog world, even in space,
apropos of nothing,
and that is when I realize
she is not Korean or Chinese or even from the Phillipines
She is an alien from the eastern side of a small planet
revolving around Sirius, the dog star.

She tells me to heel and I do
my eyes fixed squarely on the big toe of her right foot
She says I can bite it off but only if I beg