Judith Beveridge
WHEN WILL THE KENNELMAN COME
WHEN WILL THE KENNELMAN COME
When will the kennelman come?
The dogs are barking and the moon is gone.
The owls are out in the eyes
of the Doberman Pinscher hunting low.
When will the kennelman come?
Deep in the forest the kittens are lost.
The dogs are gnawing the soundless bone
and stars glow in a measureless paddock.
When will the kennelman come?
The bowls are empty and the barn's gone black
and the eyes of the dogs are scratching
the scents from the winter yard.
When will the kennelman come?
The kennelmaid has fallen over
the whimpering hound by the door.
The dogs are snapping at flies,
the coonhounds are running the rivers
and lamplight is scourging the lake,
the whelps are baying like swans
nailed by their wings to the gate.
If only the kennelman would come
out of the long grass, out of the orchard
where the fruit's gone bad, out of
the shadows of the prowler's face.
When will the kennelman come?
And which one of you, my dogs, should I watch -
which for the scent of his kill
and which for his pitying whistle?