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The Dog by Matthew Sweeney

Taken from The Bridal Suite published by Cape Poetry

He was walking an imaginary dog.
He'd stop and yank an invisible lead,
turning to growl at the creature
that he hadn't got all day, that no dog
needed to pee every five yards,
than any minute now rain would fall
from a sky as blue as his one eye.

He brought the dog into the pub.
He tied it to the leg of a chair,
got a pint of stout and sat there
as I followed him in, pretending
to look for someone, then sitting down
with a beer of my own, to stare at him
talking to the dog and to himself.

He drained his glass and got another.
He leaned down and stroked the dog,
muttering to it things I couldn't hear,
straightening up to smile to himself,
then I had to go, out into the November
sunlight, looking behind me, listening
for the faintest whimper or bark.

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