It was between stacking the washing machine
and opening the door for the dog
that I understood what you had meant.
“Smellygorgeous”, you call him.
I call him “Smog”.
His breath could move mountains
and I could do with some real mountains really
moving around here.
The neighbours call him “Mongrelcurbastarddog”.
They have heir reasons.
I nudge him out with my foot
and wonder if you really meant what you said.
© Kathleen Ahearne
No comments:
Post a Comment