Dog Quoodle knows the thickly-scented ways
to read his world; likewise the homely cat.
Both taste the morning air and breathe the day's
unseen criss-cross, recording this and that -
'hot stink' of fox printing the drying dew,
the rubbing-post of next-door's tom, the scurf
of pigeons, or where greedy squirrels threw
our tulip bulbs. Keen noses twitch and surf.
Man gives his morning newsprint a rude shake,
sniffs at the bottle: has the milk gone off?
That too-ripe Camembert was a mistake.
The smell of crumb-clogged toaster makes him cough.
He should have cleaned the drain, the grease-tap reeks.
He blames the dog, the cat for all this mess.
The waste-bin's rotted - for how many weeks?
God only knows. He craves more noselessness.