Poetry

His Master's Voice

Safe in the queue of the bus stop, I view
as she lays into her boyfriend’s pit bull.
He yanks away his pet; she keeps kicking
the wind out of the dog that can only gulp.
Shelter clock digits tick over to Due.
She, tip-toed in the precinct, he holds back
Sarge, rubs his rib-cage ready for round two,
Hammer-flat-head jerks its skittering claws.
Barking, harsh whispers, pointing ‘sov’ fingers.
He drawstrings his hoodie to a pucker;
she bawls back, Why’d yer shag such a minger?
Studded leash unwinds from knuckles
someone runs to split the couple apart,
they grimace as the dog lets out a fart.

Karl Riordan