Wednesday, January 04, 2017

The Dog

The dog’s got the jitters.
He tells me he’s worried about the fireworks
Someone’s letting off in a distant suburb.
He paces in and out of rooms,
Smiling, frowning, wagging his tail.

The creek is overgrown with weeds.
We walked there today in the midday sun.
An old woman was feeding the ducks,
The shops are closed till the end of January,
No one round here seems to be young,
Old men in their gardens frown when I walk by,
And a Ute drives down Darling Road,
honking its horn the length of the block,
though mostly there’s not much traffic at all.

Summer is something that happens to other people,
Somewhere away from here, the dog tells me.
It's the fireworks, getting on his last nerve.
I tell him, make the most of it kiddo,
It’s the only summer we got.

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