A MONDAY 


Strolling, not aimlessly
But as the snail,
Determined, I chanced upon
Wrigley and his dog.
The sea breezes
Cooled us where we stopped
Chatting of this,
That, and the other thing.
Elgar, Wrigley's dog,
An animal of brutal mien
But soft hearted,
Solicited my attention
By gently nuzzling
My summer shorts,
And at last licking
The inside of my thigh
Since I was so busy
With his master.
Abandoning that confabulation
I leaned down
And gathered up the monster,
Gripping behind the ears,
Like you do, hugging and, well,
Hugging some more.
Elgar is a dog
Whose affections are large
And pressing
If he likes you.
I am one of his favourites.
There are few things
More congenial
Than the friendship
Of an honest dog.
We strode off together, Wrigley,
Wrigley's dog,
And me, until we reached
The Lifeboat Station,
Where we parted.
I watched them a moment
Before walking up to the town.
I decided on lunch
In The Railway Hotel,
An extravagance
On this fine day, sure.
And why not?

There I am, then, at a table
With a tablecloth.
Louisa brings grissini and a menu
And I resist,
With some difficulty,
Licking the inside of her thigh.

IGNIS FATUUS


Over your shoulder
Always too late
You almost see them.
Heavy fairies.
They come and go
Now and again
Once in a while.
Never alone.
Nobody knows
Except you
Why they come.
And even you
Are not certain.
Not anymore.