‘Er …no …I really haven’t become obsessed with old roués or old dogs!  I had a writers’ circle tonight and guess what the topic was?  Yep, you guessed! And a good time was had by all 🙂

This poem will be my offering at OpenLinkNight at the dVerse pub with Natasha Head tonight too—get along there and see what the poets are supping…

The Old Dog

The old roué has a penchant for young girls,
he is a menace, yet seems not to know.

Disgust and reluctance to offend cloaks
the girls’ fears, cloaks the animosity,
covers fake laughter after he has gone.
Eyes averted, gaze elsewhere, don’t look don’t
look at him, he could return, just don’t look.

Whilst he is there, oh, whilst he’s there, the girls
are scared. He’s so old with hair in his nose
and ears. He leers, lecherously lurching
toward them in drink, has to touch, to feel,
brush their breasts, pat their pert posteriors,
smile smarmily, disarmingly (not…not).

He thinks he has appeal, he should get real,
he has none for them, his wife must tell him.
Ah! No wife. We won’t wonder why. It’s clear
those who leer we call ‘Old Dogs’ with fondness,
No! They’re a scourge and the plague of young girls.

Polly Stretton © 2012