Max thanks or thanks max I could see it all-pensioneering is a dangerous
sport- try taking a bit of dog biscuit with you (for the dog)
P ruckle P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and
poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of cooee
Sent: 16 November 2005 04:13
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: snap Wed 16 Nov 05
Hot Pursuit
The last time I attempted
a flying rugby tackle
must have been winter 1949,
unsuccessfully, I needn¹t add.
Here I was last week, sprinting
behind my panicked pup,
gathering myself for death or glory,
as he fled the café terrace
where I¹d tethered him,
leash to metal café chair -
which he¹d dragged clatteringly,
toppled, and found himself released from,
to his mortal danger.
The café fronts a busy service road,
a footpath, and a roaring highway.
That way we were heading,
he at a puppy¹s canter,
me behind palpitating
at a pensioner¹s plod,
panic equalling his.
Shouting ŒVanya, stop!¹ was
futile, repeatedly.
Shouting ŒVanya, come!¹
ridiculous.
Around us were people
peering from car windows.
None were free to spontaneously
lunge to the rescue.
Rather than soft green turf
of Wellington¹s hallowed
rugby fields, this was
bone-shaking pavement
alternating with narrow
strips of short-mown grass.
Behind him trailed bouncingly
his leather leash.
If I could grab it,
his flight to death
on the main road
under some heavy vehicle,
me with him,
would be averted.
I strode my biggest stride,
my shoe-sole met
the last inch of the leash.
A tackle of sorts occurred.
We were reunited.
Turning back to safety
we heard applause
and laughter from a crowd.
Cuddling Vanya
to my thudding heart
(thank heaven my wife,
whose dog he is,
saw none of this event
nor its might-have-been)
I returned him to the café,
tethered him securely this time,
and placed my order,
a sandwich and a strong coffee.
Max Richards
outer Melbourne
Wednesday 16 November 2005
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