Jo McNeice

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Another of my bloody love poems

It’s an old dog
of an idea.
Deaf, incontinent
and milky-eyed.
I found her
on a path in Wadestown.
Walking in circles,
I stood there awhile
wondering what to do.
Was there anything to do?
Then a voice.
‘That’s Prudence,
she’s out for her walk.’
A woman with a platinum
blonde bob appeared
from a character home.
Relieved, it wasn’t my problem.
And a little ill.
How can something
in such a state
be kept alive?

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