No thunder or lightning evident and
yet he alleges privilege, appeals to
a deep-rooted sense of fairness, an
unequivocal impartiality he swears
upon he claims, petite eyes shining,
reflecting ageless canine guile; ‘tho
not happening right now I can feel
it and it’s definitely on the way
Whoa we cry, back up a bit, sure it
is raining with distant rumblings far
away, but it isn’t carte blanche OK
for dogs being inside. He stays put,
cautiously asks – can I peek at the
radar or is that being a bit too rude?
© 20 January 2011, I. D. Carswell
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