I watched you whistle and call the conversation into shape,
A player, skilled in this art,
Yet the dog went its own way
No matter how frantic your silent calls, gestures -
The real reasons for divorce,
That unsightly spell of penury,
The short stretch, long atoned
The daughter caught with white powder,
The over violent son,
Your own struggle with depression,
Self harm, anorexia,
All the stinking places you thought you’d fenced off.
But the dog still goes there
Rolling in the mess.
Good to see your abiding faith in dog training.
Good to see we’re all still dogs.