Hope on a Leash

Gum tree roots 
cracked the pavement,
I saw my future
in the red bins 
lining the street;
a calendar of days,
repetitive filth.

Around Keppel Street
comes leaning Lycra;
a dog walker, 
and a miniature beast 
straining the leash.

And there it was, 
in the jig of the Maltese mutt,
something like hope;
vigilant eyes scouring,
catching movement,
gratefully glossing 
at even the lawn’s bowing blades.

And I see 
its trembling budded nose 
dip down to the wafting lavender.
Six times a week 
it welcomes the bush,
collecting the smell
whatever the shape of it,
never believing in always,
curious for each day.

Published by sarcasticfringehead

I'm an adult survivor of child abuse who documents therapy; a yellow brick road to hell.

2 thoughts on “Hope on a Leash

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