Rooms with Dog Paintings

The room is right out of some
pottery barn catalogue -
white, clean, rustic;
old clocks, old dog, old lock, old key.
innocent plaid galoshes sit in the corner;
so how could one ever guess
this as the site of something so gruesome?

It's here that he sits,
resting on that wooden floor
(stained or just ancient, I'm not sure)
with legs stretched out
as they begin to swarm.
he doesn't see-or maybe he does?

Their little red bodies shine and gleam
as they begin their ascent of him;
suddenly they are upon him
consuming, burning like fire-
on his ankles now, all over his feet

Teeth clenched,
he can think few things:
his friends were damn liars!
this is, after all,
way worse than athlete's foot-
a bittersweet victory, perhaps deserved
for ugly galoshes, weed-infested pillows,
and pots kept in jars.