And then she asked,
‘What breed?’
And I’m like,
‘She can see the same future,
and it’s beautiful.
The bronzed sun rising
in the summertime,
with her hand in mine
as I write my lines.’
And then time dilates
and I’m lost in the moment forever,
and then time bounces back
like it always does,
and anyway,
she’s supposed to be working.
Truth is,
I don’t really care what breed,
whichever breed would make her happy,
'cause I’m happy when she’s happy.
Besides,
one dog is never
enough,
especially when you’ve got
three cats.
Dane Cobain (UK)
An independent poetry journal. Watch your step.
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