03 August 2015


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