04 March 2010

A Sense Of Worth


Barely concealing emotion and tentative as
if mutely accusing me of complicity she asks 

if I had seen her little dog. I’ve known her all 
her eleven years; while she displays at times 
an artifice beyond her age I knew that this 
was tender-raw and real. 

Grudgingly explained of 6 dogs disabusing
inept ‘trainers’ at home it's a tan and white
Jack Russell male, cheeky nature, disposed
to truculence. I agreed I had; a week ago he
came into the back yard, sniffed and peed
assertively on flowers then ran away. 

Missing since morning, looked everywhere
she said. The pout and rising lilt suggests a
sentiment suppressed by doubt concerning
my veracity. If I did - I’d let her know - I say 

sincere, unless he went near chooks who 
survived the last calamitous event. 

Her plucky innocence conspired to make 
me sad. This dog was raised in anarchy, a
barefaced terrorist, untrained or leashed or 

made obey commands. If there was to be 
grim prognosis then for sure, for both of 
them, it would be bad. 

Tho' guiltless of the act my view protected 
her and stays my rectitude; she'll never see 
her dog again or know its fate. Blameless in 
herself by flaws of parenting too skewed to 
bare one's sense of worth to ugly truth. 
© 8 February 2010, I. D. Carswell