West Enders

Not ladies from a soap opera, 

but just as mischievous as any Mitchell, 

Ronnie and Roxy play, under the benches 

beautiful young girls, bright eyed, so soft, 

the Vizsla-like blue starting fade, 

they are model citizens on parade, 

hiding from the heat, while their humans eat, 

though the smells of the pub garden swell

in each nostril, now uncle is on patrol

each puppy goes for a stroll, 

this is like a play date, a smorgasbord 

a menagerie to be explored, 

all around the Black Lion they roam, 

citizens of the world, they keep an eye on home, 

or at least the cushion under the bench, 

they charm the other families that lunch, 

and us for a while, tiptoeing around the firepit, 

then with the heat, they return to sit, 

perfect, for a little while at least, 

just enough time for dad to feast.