Lockdown through the eyes of a dog, a poem by Clive Oseman

I’m not sure what the humans are playing at.
Mine is doing nothing, like some kind of aristocrat,
not going to work, acting the prat,
talking to me like he owns the gaff,
saying I stink and need a bath.
He’s got more neck than a bloody giraffe.I want that few hours release
where I can happily lick my balls in peace
without him telling me
it’s a disgusting habit,
but if he had the chance he thinks he would grab it.
I think he means his own balls though,
but why he would, I don’t really know.

Then there’s the walks.
Normally I have to beg him,
these days he just can’t wait to begin.
When I’m trying to watch Brian Griffin
I’m put on a lead
and I have to miss him.
My hero neglected to suit my human
because it’s always about
what he wants to do, man.

I hate him sometimes,
and I fear he may have committed a crime.
No one will go anywhere near him
like everyone, everywhere,
suddenly fears him,
and when he saw a cop in the park
well, he jumped from the bench,
said “fuck this for a lark”
and we were gone before I had time to bark.

We got home, he had a shower
and refused to go out for 24 hours.
I don’t know what it is he’s done
but he washes his hands
like he does it for fun.
Washing away evidence, I’m guessing.
I hope they use dogs
when they come to arrest him.

Bio & Link
Clive Oseman is a Swindon based Brummie spoken word artist whose third collection “It could be verse” is to be published shortly by Black Eyes Publishing. He can be found on Facebook as Clive Oseman- Spoken word. (I have also submitted the A-z of life in lockdown to you)

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