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Wednesday, 25 April 2012


The yapping dog at the house in Fruithill Park
for all I knew had a bite worse than its bark
as I delivered groceries in nineteen sixty three
on a Mace bike, bringing out the nervous kid in me.

I've never liked dogs of any breed or size,
a dislike I've never attempted to disguise,
if I saw a panting hound up a distant street,
I'd turn around and pedal a fast retreat.

The Fruithill house was not my favourite trip
but the Fruithill house always gave the biggest tip,
so my fear I had to squash, indeed confound,
for the incentive was the prize of half a crown.

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