His tail wagging is no barking
Balking at wind, at passing car
Just body friends of wet sniffs
To follow stranger’s pant legs
Only to be shaken off in a vile
Low basement in dark shadows
And sleeping cars in their veils.
Pant legs have no steel in them
And a soft bite is afraid of pain
By four pricks just below navel
Here love ferments but festers.
Plenty of action is in the street.
A dog leg is gone to pleasure
By boy’s stone at its whelping
But three legged dogs still bark
At passing cars, their shadows.
You cannot straighten his tail
His tail is like the crescent moon
Its flies are stars buzzing round
Or like a scythe the farmer uses
To bring his crop under control
And cannot be straightened ever
Like crescent moon or a scythe.
Dog and her old friend
They make joke of her seeming lying
In complete canine disinterest in flies,
Her lack of tail for flying wind of flies.
She doesn’t understand carnal jokes.
Nor do they follow a dog’s emotions.
Her paw-prints are not seen in garden.
After her old friend stopped thinking
In her arm, she is such dogged friend
Who brings smiles back to her eyes.