Back he comes, a
scrumptious morsel
carefully held
between his teeth.

He settles down
at my feet, with
a deep sigh of

and starts nibbling
on his dried treat.
Is it to him
as wine to me?

The pungent nose,
spiced, full-bodied,
smokey, pepper,
of a shiraz,

a cabernet’s
damp earthy tang,
or merlot’s meat
and chocolate tones?

He lets it breathe,
and suddenly
the aroma
hits my senses.

Bloody dog! Take
that shit outside!

Sarah Rowland Jones

If you have any comments on this poem, Sarah Rowland Jones would be pleased to hear them.