AFTER THE FUNERAL

[Jeff Thorpe]

AFTER THE FUNERAL

My wife has often said after I’m placed in the ground,
she’ll get herself a dog, as I won’t be around.
I’d like to think at least, it will have some pedigree,
substitution with a bitsa would seem misplaced fidelity.

It’s not as though I’ve blue blood flowing through my veins
but, I’d like to think it’s purer than that of a great dane’s,
and while some of my habits leave a bit to be desired,
comparing them to canines leaves one clearly uninspired.

Surely she won’t choose a yappy pekinese
or a chihuahua which would vanish in the slightest breeze.
I wonder what she’ll name it, hope it’s really sturdy,
I’d flip round in the grave if she called it something nerdy.

We once did own a dog whose name was Annabelle,
a black and white good looker and well behaved as well.
One as good as she would keep me lying straight,
it’s not as though from down below, any views I could dictate.

Nonetheless, I figure I could give this pooch some sage advice
on how to please the mistress and come out looking nice.
Firstly, in the garden, the pelargonium reigns supreme,
treat it with great caution, it’s held in high esteem.

Secondly, the mock orange, standing tall in the front yard,
around it never ever leave a calling card.
I know when it’s in flower it leaves a lovely scent
though that does not invite you, the fragrance to augment.

The jasmin ‘neath the bedroom window’s another to respect,
anything happens to it, you’ll be a prime suspect
so, no bones or digging near it, leave it well alone
better to find somewhere else to use as a drop zone.

Next door’s cats are bastards, treat ‘em with disdain,
they’ll maybe get to wonder if I’ve come back again.
Chase them back to their place just like I used to do
‘bout time they stayed at home when going to the loo.

Possums, crows and lorikeets, I’ll leave to your discretion,
all of these are known to be guilty of transgression.
Admittedly, with all legs on the ground you’re lacking
to police these aerial looters who at times need whacking.

Be faithful to the mistress and you will be on clover,
like a bowler getting a wicket in a maiden over,
you’ll be on a pedestal, just you wait and see,
but, not so much I hope, that she don’t remember me.

Jeff Thorpe 20 December 2013 ©

[warooa]

Been cocking your leg on the pelargoniums again Jeff ?

Marty

[alongtimegone]

Tell your wife it must be a male Jeff. The cocked leg has it. There's something off putting about the squat position.
Wazza

[Jeff Thorpe]

Hi Marty

Pelargoniums, the bane of my life. Maybe a cocked leg would get rid of them.

G'day Wazza

Cocked leg or squat position. Now there's a theme for another poem.

Cheers, Jeff