I am not a huge reader of poetry; however, in one of Alexander McCall's new books (The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday), the main character (Isabel Dalhousie) makes frequent reference to W.H. Auden. So I started looking at Auden's poetry, some of which was long and (to me) indigestible. I did come across one poem I liked very much, titled "Talking To Dogs." The beginning of it (it's fairly long too) is:
From us, of course, you want gristly bones
and to be led through exciting odorscapes
-their colours don't matter - with the chance
of a rabbit to chase or of meeting
a fellow arse-hole to snuzzle at,
but your deepest fury is to be accepted
as junior members of a Salon
suaver in taste and manners than a pack,
to be scratched on the belly and talked to.
(The "polaroid" photo of Auden was done on an image generator, as you can tell by the advertising on the bottom - guess I could have cropped it - getting lazy in my old age!)
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