When the Dogs Bite

Saturday, 19 April 2025

19th April 2025

heavy coughing

from the spare bedroom

sore throat

V.V

Even through a study of anatomy

she takes a pause to process what lies here;

the cat had died in quite some agony

with blood upon the walls and stink of fear.

And though it did not leave its life in ease

the furry corpse has suffered further ill,

cut open to display internal parts and tease

the fate of all who dwell in Heathtown still.

Was this man a student of biology?

the discipline eludes her thought

for Wolverhampton has no medical degree

nor is a study of forensics taught.

Friday, 18 April 2025

18th April 2025

Jiu-Jitsu class

"We all want to be Rachel"

No. I'm illegal now.

V.V

She shuffles in past dimly-lit settee

quite certain now that she is quite alone;

She opens up the curtains carefully

to check that she is overlooked by none.

This window look out to the further blocks

obscured for now by foggy winter air

and sees there is no likelihood of flocks

of residents who likely do not care.

she opens up the curtains to shed light

is what might be a student project laid

beneath the battered coffee table plight

of Pussy Willows final living day.

Thursday, 17 April 2025

17th April 2025

UK Supreme Court

discriminates against tiny minority

boosts hater's book sales

V.IV

The final room of this depressing place

awaits with partly opened hardboard door

a ragged hole has been kicked through at base

to leave a cat-sized gap over the floor.

She's neither seen nor heard the pet of the deceased

and half expects to find its sad remains

although she hopes the feline was released

before he chose to smash his head and brains.

There is no stink of death within the room

just barroom smell of cigarettes and beer

and while her eyes adjust within this tomb

what happened to the dead man's cat comes clear.

Wednesday, 16 April 2025

16th April 2025

choking the tutor

he thanks you afterwards

cured tickly throat

V.III

Nothing else of note in the kitchen here-

just mis-matched crocks and corner-shop flatware;

and empty cans of M&B brewed beer

stacked in pyramids: a side-stall fair

waiting for a customer that never came

to throw a ball and knock them off their stands

in assumed certainty to win the game

and take a tchotchke prize with eager hands.

Behind the cans a serving hatch is hid

through which is seen the final, living, room

though little is revealed, beyond an early bid

of curtains closed and shadows in the gloom.

Tuesday, 15 April 2025

15th April 1015

three forty-year old boys

swearing at JJ and I in the car.

They're outnumbered.

V.II

Next to an electric kettle muchly furred

with calcium deposits from the water here

is a jar of copper change, deferred

from the making holes in pockets fear

enough in here to make a pound or two

to buy tobacco and some rolling papers

if she can find a shopkeeper to woo

and be subject to her pay-with-pennies capers.

She adds it to the bag, which makes it heavy

and in danger of the plastic handles ripping

she scoops an arm beneath to keep it steady;

sets it on the counter, stops it tipping.

Monday, 14 April 2025

14th April 2025

weeding

in the afternoon sunshine

bramble thorns

V.I

Two rooms remain in this deserted place

which echoes with despair and private grief;

she assumes it echoes hers, as is the case

with the kitchen to her left, which gives relief

when she finds several cans of food remaining

in the cupboards, though the fridge has been stripped bare

but for a single pint of milk sustaining

an evolving ecosystem growing there.

She fills a plastic Tesco bag with all the food

she finds; a tin of stewing steak and some dried beans

of the red kidney kind, which she has always viewed

as poison from the phytohemagglutinins it weans.

Sunday, 13 April 2025

13th April 2025

porthole

added to the back gate

unimpressed dog

IV.X

But wishes are for children's fairy tales

and never granted in the daily adult grind

unless you're in the company of rich white males

who see no use in sharing wealth or mind

the inequality of the richest one percent

who rule the world with tariffs and with tax

and pay no heed when starving folk are sent

to work with almost nothing on their backs.

If art is for the richer few and not the plebian hordes

then her paintings should be a commentary on life

that reaffirm connections between commoners and lords

and address concerns of suffering and strife.