The Pessimist’s Dog

Barking up an apple tree in winter,
The pessimist’s dog is told
“Nothing grows here!”
Its tail flops and it goes
To rest its head on owner’s foot.

Together, they roam the road
The dog, always a step behind
But locked on with eyes in awe.
The pessimist, eyes elsewhere,
Apart from the occasional pet
When the dog brushes by their leg.

Approaching a florist they know,
Holding the last petals of summer,
The pessimist barges through,
Spewing words like thick tar
Paving the once-bright sidewalk.
It slows and sticks the passerby
And their petals rot to black,
Whilst the light-pawed dog treads atop.

Finally home and out of the cold,
The pessimist lights the fireplace,
Stoking it until the blaze gags.
They take seat in their armchair
Positioned facing the fire
Looking down into the eyes of their pet
Whose tail is wagging through the flames.
The pessimist leans in to stroke its ears
Whilst the dog’s back begins to burn away.