To my dog, in all his disguises
by Lee Nash

There were always dogs for company.

In the absence of siblings a dog is a poor second

or a vast improvement,

depending on your point of view.

Now, they seem like one animal, one spirit of a dog,

whose body constantly metamorphosed:

from a Dachshund to a Labrador

to a sleek Alsatian,

then a matted black Spaniel that pilfered canapés,

now a Bullmastiff that could be ridden like a horse.

It bit a school friend on the hand.

It jumped out of a first-floor window.

Bolted the neighbor’s chickens.

And would not budge from that spot

by the chair where its previous owner had sat

and commanded it to stay.

I expect if we had not called her back

it would still be there, a discovered pile of loyal bones,

mutt-ghost pawing for the outdoors,

pining for fresh earth and blissful adventures.

 

First published in Allegro Poetry (UK), issue 6, September 2015.

 

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