Dennis
Some dogs are a ballache to walk, not Dennis.
Unless he’s decided we’re to go no further.
Look at that golden back, white belly,
white socks, like a smiling orange
flavoured cow. He loves the pub.
He’ll stop by the Thistle’s Neck at lunch,
holding his hind legs straight as bone
by the front door.
Come on man, we can’t go in today.
Can you blame him?
A string of people bend down and stroke him,
spatchcocked on the warm wood floor.
You wouldn't even have to see it,
you’ll hear an, Aww, and know
a couple were about to leave, saw Dennis,
Mrs. We can never have too many dogs
has bent down, Mr. My wallet can’t take this,
clocks Dennis. They see his rescue dog face,
It’s decided, we’re keeping him.
We turn with our pints, three feet behind,
shout, Oi, Dennis! We’re sat right here.