Tuesday, December 6, 2016

I wonder if the dog sees beauty


When a dog barks on television
I watch my dog, stretched out
there under the screen. Not an ear
moves; not a flicker
of interest. But if the dog next door
sets one paw on our driveway,
through windows, shutters
and walls, she hears him
and jumps to her feet. She looks
from me to the door and back.
I wonder if the dog sees beauty.
When I shrug on my jacket,
loop the scarf round my neck,
and she crouches on the lawn
as if inviting me to toss her a ball
or a stick. But she’s not a dog
who plays games. She watches,
ready to spring, and when I
jingle the bunch and turn that final
key in the lock she jumps
into the air and barks
for sheer joy at the whole street
and jumps again and barks and twists
as if to buck off any rider
and the saddle too. Then she bolts off
down the drive, looks back,
runs on, looks back
and barks as she goes
about the business of walking
me to the shops. And at the corner
is that beauty she sees and barks at
as I stop, unable to go on
while the fog falls up the cliff face
from the valley like water
and she turns to check? I am
lagging behind.
Is that beauty that she sees
in the distance? Or a moment
of less substance than a bone
and no point in saving for later?

1 comment:

  1. Such a good feeling in this poem...thank you, Mark!


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