A warthog twitched its narrow jaws
and blinked alive;
a hunting dog peeled its black lips.
were speaking through them. One asked why
a girl had turned
her granddad’s photo to the wall.
his son (too late) run home, unplug
chugging inside the living room,
waking the neighbours.
A tear salted one boy’s cheek,
the warthog stretched out
its pink tongue.
Matthew Dobson lives in West Yorkshire. In his spare time, he enjoys playing squash, riding bicycles and reading and writing poetry. He has been published in Ink Sweat And Tears, and The Cadaverine.