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Pressed between the corduroy calves of Man sniffling through a box of LPs, A golden labrador.
Dope-eyed, old and creamy, he lies out the Saturday boot sale strumming ears tickled by chords of grass
while a sticky kid’s paw pats him
cautiously rifling his suede-boned nose and liquorice lips.
Man thumbs past Jim Reeves and Classics for Pleasure, a Reader’s Digest box set of WWII songs, truffling for rare jazz or Jap white labels.
Between the boxes, swanking past,
a flat-faced mutt locked against buttoned leggings, thin straps and orange ankles. He snaps his displeasure at the Lab who sniffs on,
caressed by the corduroy shuffling Man ‘Piss off,’ the Lab mouthes safely.
He loves this just still summer heat.
The trickle of greasy sneakers, suedes and wet trainers, sandals, flip-flops, Grubby farts and mouth-spills, nappy babies with milky mums and nylon grans,
Cheap stale bags with snotty tissues and chocolate and turn-ups with cheesy crisp crumbs.
He loves man loves him loves here best. He loves this all. Soon the best bit.
Bag of disks, deal done, they trot to bacon breakfast and queue at the cabin
Flat-face trussed under-heel to the orange ankles leggings man’s friend Shorts bare brick dust calves course with Mr Muscle.
‘Prat.’
Flat-face whines and drools. ‘Prat.’
Teaspoons planted in dishwater brown-stained Steeped in sugar a sausage in bread
All for him.
Sucked down in a second. Bliss.
November 2, 2014