The Dog

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For David and DJ


I say 'come'

and you stay.

I say 'sit'

and you stand.

I say 'stay'

and you wander.

Forget about 'down'

or 'fetch'. 

You're a rascal

with your own ideas,

a nosy mischief-maker,

stubborn and meandering;

no lazy, fluff-ball

lap rug for a doddering

retiree, no arm-warming 

stud-collared accessory for a doting 

well-healed sugar momma,

you won't be toyed with,

or spoiled.

But even better

you're no ego-stroke either,

like those angular, muscular  

obedient breeds

that make their

emasculated owners

feel like 'masters' -

as if nature could be 

commanded or controlled 

like thought or desire,

as if.

You've got hunting DNA,

and remind me of me

when I was your age

(in human years),

a rebel, a lost cause, 

forever sniffing for clues,

pawing the dirt for remnants 

of the dead, scratching in corners

for signs of life behind walls, 

every neighbourhood

of this metropolis 

a tapestry of sensations,

every conjunction of streets

a possible direction.

 

In less bustling moments

there are times we are home,

when you do seem to listen, 

you stop suddenly 

and it strikes like sunshine through a window,

I see it come over you 

in your narrowing eyes,

the angle of your cocked ears,

and you become

the shadow at my feet

radiating warmth 

and fidelity,

and it brings me back 

to myself.