Inseparable

Found in a gutter of blood,
a mongrel, emaciated,

half dead, wheezin’, shakin’,
all roughed up an’ forsaken
on this, God’s own Sunday mornin’.
To leave him,
‘twould be a sin,
one of the blackest ones.
Into me arms with
the wretched cur.
Me, of all bloody people,
hooch ridden,
of pauper’s pockets
an’ no arse to me trousers.
’Tis our journey now;
bum an’ beast,
we mangy twain.
Homeward bound,
we’ll share me rags, scraps
an’ cardboard walls,
the dog an’ meself,
scavengers;
loners.
The dog knows not,
I know not.
What to do?
Wait and wait
in the silence of strangers,
where strangers are buried,
buried from the norm.
Sleep; an’ more sleep
in the rags of warmth
’neath a plastic roof;
damn the rain!
Whiskey, too,
to upholster me innards.
The stillness of the creature,
the silence,
an awful quiet;
waitin’.
Maybe dead?
Waitin’.
The curst unknown
gnawin’ the time
into drunkenness,
bearin’ into sobriety.
Day into night
an’ day again.
Waitin’.
The dog sees me;
I think - alive begad!
The dog and I,
our home,
“A rough lookin’ duo.
Some fookin’ fairy tale this is.”
Me laughs to meself.
Who rescued who,

me be wonderin’.
Companionship, free medication,

goes down a treat

like pain dullin’ hooch.

A godsend,

as me mammy use to say.
By the canal at the break of dawn
in grey light an’ city drizzle.
We both walk with a limp,
some pain -
but we’re okay.
Inseparable.