SENTINEL POETRY #26 Online Magazine Monthly, January 2005

BEN BARTON

 

Walking the Dog

 

 A meaningful task - I take the spiritual path

Walking the dog and seeing the sights

of Broomfield Car Park.

A steaming cigarette, I pull and lead us forth

We fork through the gravel terrain, walking on a stony bed

That Moses crossed

The water laying still, hidden in the corner

with the shadows and bramble waste.

We walk with haste.

The portly dog, he waddles by while I assume the air

Twinkling lights - a whores lair

Are things we pass

Stone and concrete, weeping grass

I hold my breath and let my mind

Unwind without a source of air

I keep the walking, absorbing the black

Free without a care.

Time ticks on, my lungs expand

and I feel a numbness close to hand

Lungs to burst! They might explode!

We walk on more, the heavy load

Is soothing: like an itch that’s good to scratch

And a pain that I deserve.

Finally - a struggle. I relax, and breathe it out

And the fullest breath that I deserve -

It follows further now with ripest course.

A cool dose

Soothing my throat and voice

It tastes like milk.

And at last I’m left to make

A choice.

The dog, he follows

As I make the journey home

Me to the armchair

He to bone.

And my muscles lay unrestricted

And I breathe the warming fire

Where I crave for a milky cup of tea

and the conversation’s dire.

 

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