Our breakfast of sweet breads
is hampered by the dog
who adopts us
as we walk on the beach.
He trots courteously behind us,
as no dog trained to heel
ever would.
Except when he leaps ahead
to engage other dogs
in a bit of frolic.
And then falls back in step,
as though he’s been called.
He’s the dirtiest dog I’ve ever seen,
with sores and bare patches of skin –
a guru dog we should learn from,
joyful no matter what.
An irresistible spirit when seen
in silhouette,
poised with his tail wagging,
his one good ear up,
the other one bent.
Probably a fight, you say,
when I wonder why.
This dog does not imagine
his life is lacking anything,
for all that he needs a bath,
he’s just hoping
we’ll get generous
with the sweet breads,
that a bit of custard
with land in the sand.