THE MAN AND DOG
Every day he walked a dog that wasn’t his.
The lead he used was made of socks.
He took the dog everywhere, even to the pub.
The dog loved a packet of pork scratching,
and they both played darts in the lounge.
The man put the dog on a stool to give him
a chance. They hit double top, treble twenty,
but neither had the bulls-eye. When closing
time came they tapped the pavement, talked
all the way home. He jumped the gate,
opened it for the dog, then they went to the back
garden for a piss. The wife went bonkers
in the morning. She snapped his pool cue in half,
bent the darts and ripped up the lead. He now
walked the dog with his wife’s bra.
Cars went by and beeped their horns.
Someone said ‘Even an ambulance honked’
His wife went shopping for a new ‘F’ cup.
The man and the dog walked to the pub
and the wife ran home to lock the doors,
and hide her new bras in the airing cupboard.
THE DOG AND THE MAN
There was a dog who had a man
to walk twice a day. He put the lead around
his own neck to save the man floating
away like a released kite.
They went the butcher’s market, bought
meat on the bone. The man ate the meat
passed the bone to the dog. Who licked it
with a paint brush tongue.
When in the park the dog passed the man
sticks to carry, also found golf balls under a shrub.
They both sat on the bench read local papers,
Evening News and Dog Independance.
The dog worked five days a week, helped deliver
milk while the man sat at home on benefits.
They argued over train fares on days out
as the dog said he got up early to pay bills.
The man threatened to leave the dog. He even
put his lead on ebay. The dog made the man
a curry, mixed in a herb based dog food, to make
him go the loo during the night.
He even took out the bathroom light bulb.
THE MAN WHO THINKS HE’S A DOG
He walks along the road with his head held high.
He sniffs at lampposts, raises a leg, whistles away
last night's beer. His tail hangs as a dead weasel.
His wife walks beside him, pulls her shopping trolley
as they head to Asda. She leaves him outside before asking
does he want anything for tea? He replies ‘Fish Fingers’
People walk past, tap him on the head. He drops his ears
sits on his behind. A child rubs his back, touches his nose.
He smells pork pies in a bag as a shopper leaves the store.
Half-hour later his wife duck-walks out. Yokes the weeks
shopping on rheumatoid fingers. Her feet struggle to stay firm
in coastal sandals. The pink skirt curtains her legs.
The man yawns, stands up and walks beside her. He licks
his lips follows the pavement with his nose. They pass
people, cats, and children. He sniffs at the bags
catches a whiff of fresh cornbeef. His wife sighs from the weight
of being alone. They hit the last corner and he runs off home.
Opens the front door with a key. Turns on the kettle and places
two teabags in a mug for his wife. Five minutes later she enters
hears Beethoven on the CD player. Sees her husband
sipping a beer and reading the local newspaper.
Gareth lives in Wales. He has two collections by FutureCycle, The Miner & A Bard's View. His Twitter handle is: @culshawpoetry1