Morning Walk
The summer heat is
already turning
last month's mud into
cracked and shattered paving.
Three dogs of varying
ages – one young,
king of the street and
barks to prove it.
I imagine he has the
canine version of Tourette's
and is telling dogs and
cars to fuck off home
but his tail wags and
he dances around the lead
when it gets stuck
under his armpit. The old
dog trots behind; blind
deaf, feeling his way
by familiarity with the
path and the scent
of his companions.
Pause to urinate, to defecate;
never in one pile but
walked along; a garden trail
of finders-keepers
where the only prize is warm hands.
The third dog is ten.
Young enough to embroil herself
in the exuberance of
the young dog but old enough
to walk to heel, silent
except to compete in the chorus
of fuck-you-no-fuck-you
when they pass another dog.
In the woods we are
alone, but for the myriad piles
of rottweiler shit from
the owner of number 2
who never picks up
after his dogs. Always the same
but my dogs are cowed
when they pass those metal cages.
2 comments:
Unbelievable writing Rachel! Even though I'm not a dog owner - I was there - walking with you. Fuck you - no Fuck you!! Love it!!
Thank you! I ought to video Moose as he walks along shouting.
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