Are You Being Served?
In the damp park this morning,
people and dogs are keeping
to the dry paths. As for me and my dogs:
firs I bring the pup, straining
at the leash - no off-leash time for him,
for fear he refuses voice-control.
Then the old dog, incorrigible scavenger -
no off-leash time for her - intent
on pulling me to the crusts and crumbs
put out for birds by the disabled folk
in the community cottage
that overlooks the park.
These my two jealous lovers,
constantly aware of each other,
often display rivalrous
(is there such a word?) behaviours.
(Don't you like the plural?)
One at a time, I serve them
with a short morning outing.
My wife, the late-riser, may each
an innings, later, on her bed ...
Today in the damp, joggers predominate,
most in standard daggy tracky-pants,
great on good figures, the pits on the rest.
Close up, the joggers' exhalations plume
and rasp; you sense the pressure in their chests.
What have they done to deserve such pain,
such punishment, and self-inflicted?
How glad I am, needing never again
to push my poor body to such limits.
My limit is reached limping out my gate.
Nostalagic? yes, for the days when energy
pulsed within, pounding to be let out.
It went with other energies, now sadly faded.
Goodbye my bodily sex-life, though it leaves
all that sex in the wicked old head.
Let's hope these couples, matching shapes,
colours, hats even (beanies for the most part),
get back home soon, not too puffed,
strip off, step together in some good-sized
shower box, and take it from there ...
or so speaks the sex in my head.
('Back home", I say, mindful how this park
is designated - 'for passive recreation'.)
That couple, smart Asians, she especially -
down the track she jogs, surely her cute back view
will inspire her husband, following behind,
to serve her erotically
at the next opportunity -
he's bursting into song, a grand baritone,
warbling some warm melody
from some obscure musical comedy.
Will no on tell me what he sings?
Perhaps of a romantic Saigon homecoming.
He fades in the morning's gloaming.
Max Richards
Doncaster, Melbourne
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