I like this. One of those moments we've all had, everywhere across this
poet's world.
--
~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com | =^..^=
On 1/8/08, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Snap: The Soccer Ball
>
> rested on the grassy verge;
> nobody was about.
> I slowed to a halt at the kerb;
> my wife got out;
>
> snaffled it up, passed
> to the dog in the back.
> We drove on chuckling guiltily
> while he embraced it,
>
> opened his jaws wide
> to grip it not quite
> able to bite into it
> (hey, donšt puncture it, mate);
>
> back home, pursued it
> down the polished passage,
> out the back door.
> In the concrete yard
>
> it skittered everywhere
> between his nose and my boot.
> More biting threatened it
> with a short painful life.
>
> Made for Adidas in Morocco,
> made for agile humans
> who know the rules -
> bad should it now expire between
>
> the tooth of the dog and
> an old manšs toe. Expire?
> While a ball-mad dog has life,
> his ball, bouncy or flat, lives.
>
> Each room in the house
> has a ripped tennis-ball,
> not dead but dormant.
> The hound has them in thrall.
>
> Wednesday 9 January 2008
>
> Max Richards
> Doncaster, Victoria
>
>
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