FRANKENSTEIN’S DOG

FRANKENSTEIN’S DOG

By Frances Harris

Sniffing round the doctor’s table,

Just another normal dog,

Pagan is a half bull mastiff,

Then he might be part Great Dane,

Just last night a goat’s been slaughtered,

Master downs a pint of Scotch,

Leeches crawling in a bottle,

Medicine for wounds and aches,

Everything is on the table,

Most of it is packed in jars,

Pagan gets a whiff of goose fat,

Planning how to take his fill,

Boiler’s steaming on the stove top,

Think it’s maybe rotting fish,

Brains and little things that wriggle,

Making up the monster’s dish,

Pagan hears the back room tussle,

Knowing that it’s time to eat,

Hearing chains and cages rattle,

Pagan knows they’ll soon go in,

Checking if the scars have healed yet,

Doctor Frank soon needs to check,

Now the key is turning fully,

Door is creaking, he goes in,

Pagan follows to be with him,

Soon the bandages come off,

In the room there is a table,

Someone bound is strapped on top,

Pagan prances round the table,

Thinking that he might be fed,

Doctor Frank is looking worried,

Takes the strips of cloth right off,

Someone in the cage is restless,

Looking for his goat’s blood stew,

Pagan stops and runs for cover,

Can’t see if it’s man or beast,

Someone brings a spilling bucket,

Bright red liquid down the sides,

Pours a measure on a platter,

Slips it through a narrow gate,

Pagan sees the food uncovered,

Tips the bucket on the floor,

Takes a whiff, then thinks he’ll leave it,

Curls his tail and slinks away.