Strays
Alley dog who models matted coat,
Incensing clothiers at Fifth and Main--
You have no proof you are a legal dog.
One day you knew the power that you are.
Beneath a stack of cast off tires you saw,
You felt, you tasted in a dumpster's steam.
So now you strut through uptown parking lots.
Dog, in a paved field sniffing, please beware
Of skies with signs that hide your ritual moon.
The warden comes to rid the streets of strays,
Incarcerates you, pending no appeal
And executes you for the common good.
Someone has to own you, otherwise
You get the gas. Your crime is being born
Where being does not count, but owning does.
And when they catch you--be assured they will--
And bind your miracle with lethal law,
Bite them for this mongrel poet, too.
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