A clever subterfuge you’d say - a canine romp that
plays off-keys you’d rarely need accord in memory,
of echoes clear as yesterday; you'll hear, and he’s
aware - the barking swears his faith in you; there’s
barely time to find him in what’s left of dusk & he’s
unfazed by dark; you know that too, yet asking me
accompany you & I dare not demur; why me wont
be insurance when the Podge’s lodged a claim
Isn’t one he’s posed for eminence or fame; learnt
that early in his countenance - but if he’s bored it
tends to raise the stakes for him to be a centre of
his own idea - this time the game is not too far or
out of way, except the banks of Bungo Creek are
steep beyond belief: his barking ceases as we’re
Nearing where he planned to say Gidday, you’ve
come to help me catch the feral beasts a-lurking
in the fox-holes deep - no need okay; let’s take a
hike back home again before its way too dark for
you to see this doggy grin a-fixed my face, its all
a game you’ve played to make me very glad …
© 3 July 2015, I. D. Carswell
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