A Dog and Thunder
A Dog and Thunder.
I hear thunder it’s nearing, the dog, not looked after, whimpers; this
ancient fears of Odin’s horse hooves, sparks from the gloomy sky-
Thor, is no better with his loud, idiotic thunder trying to steal his
father’s ire. How to tell the dog its chances of getting, hit is remote?
I open the gate it runs into the shed and curls up on a rug I was about
to throw away as it threadbare and full of holes; it was new once,
admired for it colour and pattern. That’s the way of everything that’s
why I only buy old bangers. There is nothing as sad as a hounded and
ignored dog, it avoids eye contact fearful I might change my mind and
throw it out. The owner of the dog is a man of uncertain anger if I offer
to adopt it he might shot it as he did with another dog of when it was
futile as a hunter of rabbits. My cowardice is endless to confront a man
with guns on his walls, not me! I feed the poor cur, but never let into
the house it must understand that I’m not a master... just its friend.
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