When the Dogs Bite

Friday, 4 April 2025

4th April 2025

cycling

in the near dark

aching legs

IV.I

The bathroom leaves no room for doubt

the girl had left some days or weeks before

she can see the contents from without

through the foot sized hole in door.

She enters anyway; she hopes to find

old make-up she can use for filler

of the hues of painted nightmare kind

and herself, according to the mirror,

or maybe drugs to trade for food

but there is nothing left; the cupboard flayed

except for acne cream imbued

with desperation and a rusted razor blade.

Thursday, 3 April 2025

3rd April 2025

pumping car tyres

in the evening sunshine

chill wind

III.X

Whoever was this racist gent

she's glad he nosedived from the roof

we are all of immigrant descent

with Scandi, French or German root.

The only patriots in Britain

are the Celtic tribes of yore

who lived here since before tradition;

settlers from the time before.

With great distaste she leaves the room

where suppurating thoughts engage

in such young men, with hatred spewn

by rich white men exploiting rage.

Wednesday, 2 April 2025

2nd April 2025

sharp frost

under the morning sun

gilded glory

III.IX

There are no gleams of jewels nor glints of gold

among trinkets scattered through the room

just rancid underwear and sheets long cold;

jazz mags half-hidden in the gloom.

A katana from a market stall

which doesn't scream "bad ass" but lame;

Rock band posters curl and fall

'twixt Athena tennis girls sans frames.

Whoever was this nasty punt

who didn't have an education?

A flyer from the National Front

proclaims it's message for the nation.

Tuesday, 1 April 2025

1st April 2025

dawn light

reflected in a propped-up mirror

I'm facing west

III.IX

The second bedroom belonged once to a man

of tender years to judge from all the pictures

and the heavy scent of body spray, a can

of which lies empty on a book of scriptures

She is astounded at the violence displayed

by the followers of a martyred jew

whose story is that he was once betrayed

by the kiss of one who loved him too.

A crucifix above the single bed

displays the torture of a peaceful man

who told his people to spread peace, instead

of all the hate their history had span.

Monday, 31 March 2025

31st March 2025

orange tulips

among the detritus of winter

sycamore seedlings

III.IX

The briefest glance through drawers in disarray

reveals some jewellery sourced from market stalls

bought in a time when youth had ruled the day

and lovers heeded tawdry magpie calls.

There's nothing here for her to steal and pawn

and although theft might be an ugly word

she justifies with tired, bourgeois yawn

that property is theft as Proudhon once had learned.

She leaves the room, astounded at the depth

of violence so openly displayed

but thankful that the woman here had left

before such trauma was upon her laid.

Sunday, 30 March 2025

30th March 2025

missing dog

raising my anxiety

even in dreams

III.VIII

She takes a step to check the wind-blown room

filled with a chaos not the breeze's fault;

an empty wardrobe doorless lies, its contents strewn

and crucified with nails in gestures of revolt.

Some tops and dresses of a commons style

associated with the cheaper brands

each ripped and torn; the objects of revile

by disgusted and/or jealous hands.

An affair, perhaps, exposed by faithful man

who, in a rage, rejected love of wife

who subsequently left in rented van

and in a fit of pique and loathing took his life.

Saturday, 29 March 2025

29th March 2025

a bucket of urine

thrown over his ex

petty vengeance

III.VII

She holds her breath and listens to the sound

pervading through the neighbour's flat he rents;

a television through adjoining walls, and wound

within electric hums of fridge and heating vents.

No trace detected of another living soul

within the dust-enshrouded empty flat

though evidence she sees of fur and bowl

that somewhere is a residential cat.

A bathroom and two bedroom doors she sees

though one is closed, the other open, stands,

and through it, curtains billow in the breeze

through windows broken by ill-tempered hands.