Dog

Your short shaggy stumps That graze the ground Of dead leaves and dirt Your wet, black snout that smothers the soil with smell Your empty eyes that dart from where your first patch of paw leads, And the last follows Your contained existence From here to there And back again What else have you? This moment’s piss, That last moment’s slumber The thoughtless then and now dance you do Without consideration for what the final performance may look like And it looks like nothing Except for all your futile nows That you execute with reflexive precision Your hind leg in the air Your hollow pug face stare Your undiscerning bladder flows On some beckoning bark Then you trot off In circles Much like me, Coming and pissing and leaving From tree to tree