“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
I wait to see her face from day to day,
No chicken bits throughout this endless time;
She left me yesterday, an errant fool,
To drive the dusty road. Out, out, short two-legs!
And me? a walking shadow, a poor small dog,
Who tuts and frets while she goes on her way,
My name is called no more. I wag my tail
And feel an idiot, out of bounds and furry,
Macbeth, I know, but as she’s driving up there to Macbeth country for a workshop, I felt a bit of appropriate tragedy was in order.
Me? I’m with my friends again while she’s gallivanting. I’ll be well looked after and have fun…but you needn’t tell her that, not when I could have been sharing smelly beaches with Peri, who looks after Barb Taub… or running through empty…
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