#this poem is unfinished - but I can’t figure out the middle four lines

[isawhitney]

Ode on Paul Cotterell

I can still see them sat down there: the man

and the dog. He and Theo, every evening. Stout

in his hand, he’d key into the thrum of the Drover’s Arms:

Farmer Murray whining at the price of good bull calfs,

A chiming of pint glasses. The man would overcast

His eyes and laze, but his crook-like smile

and the ears laid flat on his heart-dog’s head

Would tell you they were listening: he and Theo.

Theo: the dog in the corner, chin on the barstool. Theo

of the lager-coloured pelt. Theo with the lump

beneath his groin that wouldn’t go away. Until at last

the dog lay trusting on the veterinary’s table

And there was bile instead of bitter flowing

As the anaesthetic pulsed along: the sorrowful needle

and the man, eyes overcast. He and Theo.

Ah, but there’s nothing like a dog for bringing it home to you:

Leading you leashwise into that dark side-street,

Tottering home after closing time.