At my feet the lapdogs of desire,
I wont greet their fawning, least not yet,
their foul breath would shrink a haemorroid,
perhaps Ill feed them oats with garlic
instead. I fed their need for family,
I recognised each one and said
I loved them. Unconditionally.
Was I wrong? I cannot say they loved me back.
If love is deference then Im remiss,
Ive missed the true relationship;
I am adrift amid liaisons way beyond
my understanding. A long and tortured
time ago I thought I knew the difference,
thats what my conscience said, and now
the same and chequered values lie
just trampled in the dust at feet of dogs
along with bleak and sad insane bequests.
© I.D. Carswell
At Feet Of Dogs
written byIvan Donn Carswell
© Ivan Donn Carswell