Walking the Dog
Anthony Robottom
I'd fed her. Now I had to walk her.
Amber djer wanna walkie? Stupid question.
A yellow wagging tail, teeth, claws, and drool.
I put on her lead, and leave home.
I knew I would only be gone for twenty minutes
but it felt like I was leaving.
We clambered up the avenue lined hill.
Her nose close to the ground, sniffing.
Rich smells of the weeds, gravel, dogs and the rabbit.
Smells I could never smell.
Perhaps if I got down on my knees, my nose pricked by
blades of grass: then?
A flash of white catches her eye.
I strain to see. Following her gaze.
Rabbit tail. Rabbit eye. Rabbit smell.
Drifts to the dog. I wish I could smell it. And chase it.
Run for ever, its tail bobbing for ever on my
eye and in my head.
Rabbit runs. And dog wants to chase.
Rabbit disappears with nothing following.
I won't let her. The sky above was black.
Even the moon runs. Its milky bobbed tail hidden.
Why not run? Rabbit runs, moon runs, dog wants it
but I can't smell it, nose empty, eyes empty too.
She looks at me with pity. She knows I can't smell it.
I had tried to run, but thought better of it.
I had left home, but knew I would return.
Rabbit had been the chance.
Just the four of us running and
running for ever.
I could not smell escape. I walked her home.
And we knew that everynight there would be the chance.
Rabbit would be waiting. We knew I would never take it.
I would never run, only walk.
Back through the door. Sit, and dream of running and
running until tomorrow, and tomorrow.
