Chased by a bulldog

Chased by a bulldog
I say to myself Why me?
What have I done, I wonder,
to get bulldog’s attention?

The fellow next door,
the family opposite,
the derelict on the street,
why doesn’t he harass them?

He’s getting closer.
Should I try to evade him
or turn and confront my fear
which I think is well-founded?

I’ll climb a lamp-post;
he can’t get to me up there;
find a stable or barn door,
shut it firmly behind me.

Still he keeps coming.
No-one comes to my rescue.
It’s normal, I tell myself;
everyone’s chased by bulldogs.

I say to myself
It’s all about stamina.
It’s all about speed of strike
by the legs on the pavement.

I’ll turn and argue,
send him back to his owner
with a goodwill message slipped
round his neck in a dog-tag.

He’s at my shoulder;
his breath comes in great gasps,
his mouth runs with saliva.
In his eyes I see my own.

9 December 2008