08 July 2013

Ancient Dances

 
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In knowing how I’d feel if it were almost me
nearly makes it mockery – but then there’s
still the random chance he’s possum-playing
dance-of-death t’ bait m’ bear askew; never
put it past this bastard’s cleverness t’ run m’
clock amok; but we are buddies true – or so
he says forsooth – for sure, and you’ll agree
or are we still a span apart in reverence of


Ancient dances long forgot; what we’re not
is me expressing guilt if he’s out ‘dogging’
wild, a well-earned walk he’d say – a tildẽ
for what is not as tilted as an allegory that
shocks his coat in veils of bloody anarchy
cleaned again afore we lost th’ plot
© 18 Jun 2013, I. D. Carswell

Saga of dog-washing