My dog takes no interest in other dogs or bones. But if I have to write poetry he sits in the corner with his eyes fixed on me. I hurl bottles and pens at him to drive him away, but he always skulks back to his post and takes up watch again. I think in a previous life he was a gaoler. His snout is long and grey. Or maybe he was just a child. One they all ignored. He barks when I test my rhymes out loud. Sometimes he even howls. And he turns in circles chasing his tail when I burn my whole day’s work.
Simon Lee-Price hails from Liverpool and lives and writes in the UK. His fiction has appeared in Prole, Prose and Poetry; Sein und Werden; Interpreter’s House; The Caribbean Writer, and in horror and speculative fiction anthologies. He tweets from time to time @SimonLeePrice.