Free Verse
Old Dogs
Chasing along the rain-slicked
street
the wind pushes at my back, but I realize
that however fast or far I run I’ll never
get away from the truth.
Finally I stop. The dog, who has been dragged
reluctantly in my wake, now noses out
a suitable tree and relieves himself for a long time.
I perch on a wall, and the chill of the damp stone permeates
through to my bum, but I don’t care. Instead, I think.
I was the Other Woman once. Funny how often
those words get put into capital letters. It makes
them seem sadly self-important.
Did I give a thought to The Wife? Surely not.
Until I met her. Then all the crap I had so willingly
accepted as truth fell like sludge around my feet,
and all I felt was ashamed.
So now here I am, other side of the fence,
the Wife, sniffing in the drizzle
and towing a bedraggled dog who’d rather be home
curled in front of the fire with a Bonio.
All of those old adages about my situation,
the ones my Gran used to use,
now chase through my head like a dog after a stick...
leopards. Spots. Old dogs. New tricks. Key words: can’t, won't.
He won’t change.
So my choices are simple. Go. Or stay.
About Maureen Irvine
