Jack woke to find a warm, scraggy lump pushed up close to him, he reached out his hand and ran his fingers through Bristol’s coarse fur, the dog made...
Where do Christmas trees go to die In a municipal car park piled up high And all the dogs stop to sniff The household smells of pets And festive food...
A sad quiche on a plate Waiting, drying out Killing time and conversation too A sad quiche on a plate With a wrinkled complexion And egg on its face...