Back at my childhood home in Kisii,
Next to the home with the tall mango tree,
Lived a nice old man with a dog named Brute;
Part hound, part terrier and part “really cute”,
Sharp as attack and safe as Troy,
Yet a bundle of energy, so full of joy.
If he was happy, just for a while,
His mouth would form what looked like a smile.
So it was no wonder that I did fall
For dear Cute Brute, weird smile and all.
For I was just a little boy
Beast and bug were my joy.
(And what separates men from boys
Is difference in size of their toys!)
But so long as the sun did shine,
The old man’d never let Brute be mine.
“Not for a million bob!” he said,
“Only if my old self were dead!”
But he would let me visit to play,
And that would always make my day.
More than just the average mutt,
Brute was way above the cut.
Though he’d also beg and roll,
Could he have a human soul?
Once I climbed the mango tree,
To selfishly fill my mouth with glee
Reaping where I had not sown
Then my cover was almost blown
For who should chance to see my sin
But Cute Brute, he of the half-grin!
Many before me he had caught,
And what a lesson were they taught!
But instead of barking like a hound,
He didn’t utter even a sound.
Instead he sat there, half-smile and all,
Making my guilty insides crawl.
I came down, and since then,
I’ve never stolen a thing again.
I heard the news the other day,
Cute Brute’s soul had flown away,
Because of him, I’m not a thief,
I’m a good man, to be brief.
There will be heart ache for a while,
For I’ll miss Cute Brute, he of the half-smile.