Saturday 21 October 2017

DOGS

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,
Granddad’s Alzheimers
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.

MACKEREL

It’s a wise man who knows what is enough.
As when, with mackerel skies
We shortened sail
And, in the lee of the point,
Put over lines of feathers,
As silvery, wispy as the high mares’ tails
And, drifting on the turning tide,
Hit it lucky,
Pulling mackerel out by the dozen,
Murdering them, gutting some,
Cooking fewer,
Eating fewer still,
Giving the rest away on the dock
With a guilty look in our eyes,
And so, remembering another sail,
Another tidal place,
And a prison on that island,
In which hung a sign,
“Take all you want. Eat all you take,”
I institute this as a boat rule
And quietly,
Without hanging a sign,

As a rule for living.