Barely concealing emotion and tentative as <br />if mutely accusing me of complicity she <br />asked if I had seen her little dog. We’ve <br />known each other seven years; while she <br />displays at times an artifice beyond her age <br />I knew that this was tender-raw and real. <br /> <br />She explained unenthusiastically of the six <br />loose at home it was a tan and white Jack <br />Russel male, cheeky nature but disposed to <br />truculence. I agreed I had; a week ago he’d <br />boldly entered the back yard, indecorously <br />peed on flowers then ran away. <br /> <br />Missing since morning, looked everywhere <br />she said. The pout and rising lilt suggested <br />sentiment suppressed by doubt concerning <br />my veracity. If I did I’d let her know, I said <br />and was sincere – unless he went near <br />chooks who had survived the last calamity. <br /> <br />Her innocence and pluck combined to make <br />me sad. This dog was raised in anarchy, a <br />barefaced terrorist never trained, properly <br />leashed, or ever obeyed a simple command. <br />If there was to be a grim prognosis on its <br />end, why then for it sure it would be bad. <br /> <br />I’d prefer she did not see her dog again or <br />know its fate. Guiltless of the act I share a <br />view protecting her which stays my sense <br />of righteousness; she’s blameless in her <br />narrow view by dearth of parenting – a lack <br />which skews an anxious sense of worth. <br />© 8 February 2010, I. D. Carswell<br /><br />Ivan Donn Carswell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sense-of-worth/
