Walking the Dog

Two universes mosey down the street

Connected by love and a leash and nothing else.

Mostly I look at lamplight through the leaves

While he mooches along with tail up and snout down,

Getting a secret knowledge through the nose

Almost entirely hidden from my sight.

We stand while he's enraptured by a bush

Till I can't stand our standing any more

And haul him off; for our relationship

Is patience balancing to this side tug

And that side drag; a pair of symbionts

Contented not to think each other's thoughts.

What else we have in common's what he taught,

Our interest in shit. We know its every state

From steaming fresh through stink to nature's way

Of sluicing it downstreet dissolved in rain

Or drying it to dust that blows away.

We move along the street inspecting shit.

His sense of it is keener far than mine,

And only when he finds the place precise

He signifies by sniffing urgently

And circles thrice about, and squats, and shits,

Whereon we both with dignity walk home

And just to show who's master I write the poem.

Howard Nemerov was born on February 29th, 1920 in New York. He died of cancer at his home in University City, Missouri on July 5th 1991.