༺ bucket ༻

a brilliant little dog
was our Sam
a feisty Jack Russell

he would sit
with his back legs crossed
aristocratic
aloof
and wait for the railway workers

three times a day
the big siren would sound
haunting
and thousands of Lowry-esque guys
on bicycles
would spill forth
peddling home

Sam’s ears would prick
he’d look up the street
and get ready

dozens of legs
going up and down
trying to shuck him off
in his deadly
game of bones

one time he was missing
for days
we got a phone call
that he had been seen
sitting in the middle of the road
over four miles away
traffic streaming both sides
unconcerned
insouciant legs
crossed