Kiki

Kiki

 

I take the dog out for a walk

though for her it’s an exercise

in reading the morning papers, sniffing out the headlines

and finding those hidden meanings

that  make her want to squat

and piss upon what passes for news

 

In the early stages she is simply intent

on the leader articles and local items

waiting until she has emptied her bowels

kicked back at the earth to cover her tracks

and swaggered off while I bag up the mess

before she goes on to the gossip and sport

 

We go on like this around the rugby pitches

and through a latch gate to a narrow path

that acts as a bridal way both of us navigate with different hopes;

hers that she will see a horse, a rabbit or squirrel to chase,

mine, that it will unravel  peacefully until we turn left

onto common ground and the relative safety of the park.

Dog logic

 

Dog logic. pic

 

the river today is a gun-ruffled grey

hard faced to the wind, which

we are told, is from Siberia

freakish in March

because the jet-stream has been reversed

so now snow lays amid the rigid stalks of grass

whose defiant green blades wait

like old campaigners for the thaw

which, when it comes,

will render all of this to the long march of history

but in a hot opportunistic streak

Tinkerbell steals one of Daphne’s gloves and runs

in a tumult of fur away with her prize

Kiki sets to barking and bossing the other dogs

whilst we, keepers of the leads, huddle in the warmth

of our shared solidarity

wearing daft hats against the elements

making small talk and putting cement

into the cracks of adversity.