Dog Days
Posted: Sun Aug 18, 2013 2:51 pm
Just had this one picked up along with another of my canine poems to go into an Anthology titled Dog Days.
DOWN IS GOOD
He sat trembling, head down, eyes full of concern.
Poor old fellow!
Dust motes drifted around him
illuminated by the stray shaft of sunlight
that weaselled through the thick foliage of the vines.
He had his escape route mapped out.
It was concealed around the edges
by the Murrayas and Brunsfelsia
whose foliage kept shifting back
every time he entered or exited.
It was a good cubby hole he had
under the floorboards of the front verandah .
The earth was always cool here,
he disconnected on occasions
from all the hustle and bustle
of life on a farm.
Chilled out – left it to the younger ones.
His old bones were getting stiff and sore these days.
He’d worked hard for years
chasing those bloody woolly things around.
Nowdays he took it easier,
stayed out of the Boss’s sight
and hung around the homestead with the Missus.
But today was different
he heard the tone in the cascading words:
harsh and angry
not like the usual soft voice she used.
Something was up.
Not sure what, but something.
‘No bloody way are you going to put old Blacky down.’
His ears pricked .
That was him - Blacky.
He knew about down.
Down was good.
They went down to the creek,
and down to the shed.
He got down from the Ute when it was time to work,
they downed tools when it was smoko time.
Down was good.
Was he missing something?
Maureen Clifford ©
DOWN IS GOOD
He sat trembling, head down, eyes full of concern.
Poor old fellow!
Dust motes drifted around him
illuminated by the stray shaft of sunlight
that weaselled through the thick foliage of the vines.
He had his escape route mapped out.
It was concealed around the edges
by the Murrayas and Brunsfelsia
whose foliage kept shifting back
every time he entered or exited.
It was a good cubby hole he had
under the floorboards of the front verandah .
The earth was always cool here,
he disconnected on occasions
from all the hustle and bustle
of life on a farm.
Chilled out – left it to the younger ones.
His old bones were getting stiff and sore these days.
He’d worked hard for years
chasing those bloody woolly things around.
Nowdays he took it easier,
stayed out of the Boss’s sight
and hung around the homestead with the Missus.
But today was different
he heard the tone in the cascading words:
harsh and angry
not like the usual soft voice she used.
Something was up.
Not sure what, but something.
‘No bloody way are you going to put old Blacky down.’
His ears pricked .
That was him - Blacky.
He knew about down.
Down was good.
They went down to the creek,
and down to the shed.
He got down from the Ute when it was time to work,
they downed tools when it was smoko time.
Down was good.
Was he missing something?
Maureen Clifford ©
Who's doing the anthology ?
At least a % of their profit goes to charity and the cost is more realistic