Dog days

Daisy, his mongrel, died on him –
O she was alone in the backyard all the time
& he was trapped in his daily grind.
It was never fair for both of them.
She, looking at bluebirds all day long
He, staring at his hands in his job.
O this working-class solidarity is crap:
There’s a secret scowl on every face
everyone in a fashion doesn’t care
only boozers boast they can play
both sides of the game
& So Daisy had to leave, bolting across
her field of dreams
& up into the ice cream skies
where dog-angels congregate

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