he was the kind of grifting, streetwise lurcher
if you ran him downtown to a cash converter
you might just score a coupla bucks
if you liked your mongrels bargain deluxe
a rough haired dog who knew you knew it
hair so wild you’d think he blew it
off-white, singed, like a throw of burned coconut
teeth all messy and badly broken up
dotted around his mouth like rubble
a body as lean as a two bit go kart
a heart as smart as humphrey bogart
I’d been hired to find an old toy octopus
whose police profile was a major shock to us
googly eyes, purple fur
strictly one for the connoisseur
I held out a pic, said ‘seen this toy?’
stan just sneered, said ‘boy oh boy!
not a looker so to speak
just so long as the perp don’t squeak’
I thanked him for his time and split
we both knew I wasn’t done with it
Later when Stan lit out for a sniff
I snuck back in and found the stiff
under the sofa with a cache of chews
the kind a rough haired lurcher might use
suddenly I heard the dog flap flap
I looked around but damn I was trapped
he laughed like a chimp at a cheap safari
‘so you found my stash of calamari’
then pulling a snub nosed .44
he backed away through the kitchen door
I caught him up on newfoundland drive
just as the black n’white arrived
he did his best with the rough n’stuff
but ended paws spread on the bonnet in cuffs
‘I guess you think you’re the nuts,’ he sneered
‘in your thrift store suit and your jazzy beard’
I tapped out a chesterfield, snapped my hat
ruffled his ears as they threw him in back
‘jes’ working’ the leads, stan – nothin’ special
now give my regards to the cats at the kennel’
jim clayton 