When the Dogs Bite

Saturday, 14 March 2026

14th March 2026

supermarket checkout

a man drops his blueberries

treads them flat

Neighbours

Mick's wife died the year we moved in;

now his son is middle aged

and his chihuahua stumbles

peeing on the council sycamore.

We watched Jean's kids grow up

and have kids of their own

now Stu needs constant care

and the visits are fewer than before.

In a quarter of a century

we've never spoken to the people next to Jean

except the one time when we out to protect the wife

against a drunk and abusive husband.

Next to them a couple we've known forever,

convinced there is a portrait in the attic,

for the wife never seems to age

while the kids have grown up and moved out.

We call her Doria, after Wilde's masterpiece

and she laughs, taking it as the compliment

it is intended to be.

Evelyn's house was abandoned:

We're not sure if she died

or went into a care home:

she never spoke to us except to complain the drains were blocked

when it was always her who blocked them.

The daughter sold the house

and now it's being renovated and extended

to double its original size.

Dean and Bella had a handful of daschunds

and chickens at the bottom of the garden

which attracted foxes

and rats.

Their kids have grown into adults

and we still get Christmas cards.

The house between us

is part council - part housing association

who are tardy with repairs

but the tenants are lovely:

always a friendly hello

and a long, slow drag of her morning ciggie.

The people on the other side

played Elvis all day long at full volume

until the lady died

and the husband spent all his days

sunbathing in the garden.

He told us we'd been lovely neighbours

when they moved him to a flat

where he didn't know anyone.

Now it has a young family

who we paid to mend our water pipe

when it flooded their garden.

Their lad plays football in the garden

in smokes pot behind the fence,

while his sister goes clubbing

until the early hours.

Friday, 13 March 2026

13th March 2026

shelves stacked

with knick-knacks and object d'art

Garden wall.

Decluttering

How many books did I discard

when we Kondo'd that first time.

Was it eight years ago? Ten?

Probably a thousand, maybe two

and that's in addition to the thousands

I left behind when moving house

scraped up by the council men

and consigned to a landfill.

Now I have more again

and but none are replacements for those I lost.

Here are tomes of self-defence,

of the works of artists great and small,

and the words of other poets

on whose shoulders I stand.

I can part with none,

at least, not yet,

but all of my Bibles are digital.

Thursday, 12 March 2026

12th March 2026

decluttering

three more things to go

anxiety

Unstalking

I learn her routines;

what car she drives

where she works

the times of her shifts

and the patterns of days on/days off.

I know where she lives,

where she gets groceries,

what pets she has

(dog, cat, a number of fish)

how many times the Amazon driver comes

and the postman.

I know the websites she uses,

her social media accounts and

I follow them all under a name

she'd never recognise.

I know her family, her friends,

the colleagues she likes

and those she avoids;

I know when she walks her dog

and all the routes she might take.

I know where her lover lives

what his wife does when he's out;

which hotel they rent a room in.

All this on a web diagram

pinned to a wall in my basement,

so I never,

ever,

have to speak to her in person.

Wednesday, 11 March 2026

11th March 2026

political sonnets

languishing at the bottom

a pile data trash

Unloved

When does an artist become a hoarder?

Everything I have might come in useful some time;

an assemblage, a sculpture;

perhaps just the subject

of still life with vacuums

or self portrait with unworn hats.

One day it will all have to go.

But not today.

I might need it.

Tuesday, 10 March 2026

10th March 2026

running outside

dumping all the bags in time

bin lorry cometh

He Pays Billions (to Himself)

And now we see the reason for the war

was just another money-making scheme

the Family will buy another core

of businesses to profit from the dream.

Proteus will make a reverse-merger

with Aureus Greenway Holdings, owned by Trump,

making drones to push the war much further

with a multi-billion Pentagon-backed bump.

In a surprise to nobody at all

Proteus is also backed by firms

backed by Eric, Junior and call

Unusual Machines all run by these few worms.

Now drones are all the rage for strife,

how disposable it is, this human life.

Trump Bros Back a Drone Company as the Pentagon Prepares to Spend Billions

Monday, 9 March 2026

9th March 2026

early birdsong

a halo of orange

in the streetlight

White Phosphorus

In Lebanon where children once had schools

an new Israeli airburst is deployed,

to fall on streets and thus create the pools

of white-hot chemicals to see their homes destroyed.

Amidst the dust and flame, still some survive

though many of them die, their faces seared

with flesh burnt down to bone as fires thrive

where Human Rights have all but disappeared.

Now Israel, once thought the land of God,

attempts the genocide of poor Iran

while red-hat 'Muricans destroy the sod

and magnify the slaughter they began.

So human rights aside, the only end I see

is depose the arsehole in the Land of Free.

Sunday, 8 March 2026

8th March 2026

recording video

I should really check it works

before I post it.

Ten-minute appointment

to take a vial of blood for testing.

I don't know what they're testing for.

Maybe oestrogen? Cholesterol?

It could be chlorophyll levels for all I know:

I trust the doctors know why they asked for it,

and I hope it doesn't delay my prescriptions.

Prescriptions for statins, for thyroid underefficiency;

one for depression (it never went away),

another for blood pressure

A prescription for hormone levels

(I moan, I am a whore)

and one to stop my stomach bleeding

from all the others.

The drive back takes another hour.

All the traffic is at a standstill

roads closed without diversions or traffic lights.

At least it's just petrol it's costing,

and a piece of my shortened life.

If I was an American

I'd be facing a ten thousand dollar bill

and be automatically homeless,

but this is Britain,

where medicine is a social necessity;

not communism, just basic humanity.

In the 'States, six bodies are returned

from a war begun entirely for financial gain

while the leader of the country wears a baseball cap

and talks about his new curtains.