Fattened in the flashes of light
From the sharpest eyes, and planted in
The brawling soil that spills from the sills
Of public houses every evening of the week.
Prowling in delinquence with
The bitches of the moon dogs, who, whilst
Watching, dribble as they shiver to decide
Which hide to have, and how to impound them.
But as she stretches fully out
Upon the dim tint of potted tarmac, she
Sees me stepping back in angles less tested
Than the ones she’s used to and at once is moved.
I fetch her a bone of her own and
She skips the company she’s kept all night
In favour of my lead; slipping after me as I hop
A cobalt cab and alight at my pad to be howled at.