Waiting with Greyfriars Bobby
by Janis Clark
I scanned the photos every day for weeks,
sifted out the mountaineers, the cavemen
or those to avoided when the moon was full.
He looked quite nice. We both liked dogs.
The Grassmarket glowed in midday sun.
Nearby, Wee Bobby waited his arrival.
Mingling with tourists, I waited too,
watched a pigeon bob and coo,
tail feathers splayed to lure a mate.
When the sun cried off behind a cloud,
my watched warned it was getting late.
My first and last time.
Before I left, I patted Bobby’s nose
and marvelled at his patience.