Saturday, January 14, 2012


That dog never gave us anything but despair
He snarled and bit. Every time the screen door opened,
He bolted. Once he got run over, and worse survived.
Something had gone wrong in the making of him, mum said.

Though frightened of gleaming tooth, I loved him.
He was a terrier, brown and silky with long blonde hairs
He could fit on a lap, he worshipped my mother,
He knew the words walk and cat. Shook hands.

Most of the time he was okay, as long as you kept
The door tight shut, and didn’t let him go a visitor.
He was unpredictable. I’ve loved men like him since,
Lying in front of the gas heater with one eye open.

They sent him to live on a farm. I can picture him, bolting
Across paddocks, no law, nothing, would catch him
Skimming the fences, taking off into the sky.
He could run that dog, though he never gave us anything but despair.

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