Sport 42: 2014
We are in the backyard and you
have thrown my dog into the sky
she levitates somewhere over the
neighbour’s house, she is a long-haired
Golden Retriever, she catches the sun full whack
and shines hot like a star.
Before she floats any higher you
hurl a net over her body, peg
the twine taut to the lawn
so she is suspended against
the pull of space.
—THIS IS ART!—you proclaim
your arms goalposts through
which only silence flies.
We all gaze up at my dog—
her face peaceful as she banks and
Oh! someone gasps She’s like the
slow kid in gym class! Her gold threads
tangling with the net, her nose
lifting a little as though she smells cat
on the wind.
Pull her down! I cry
page 217 She’s just a little animal she is
not art she is so soft round the
edges—so tender at the centre.
But she is going, the peg hooved
from the ground the blue-town-sky
holding her up.
She whistles a little, a
small halo of mutt round her
nose, the long net a robe
sailing out behind her
as she moves off over the roofs
without once looking back
just that bit more
defined against the pure blue
than the rest of us.