From my screened in back porch
I get to see the sun rise,
it’s better in fall and winter.
The neighbor’s yard is being watered
because it’s Tuesday and grass
will die in the heat, or the shade.
And I see people pass on the
sidewalk, across the field which needs
neither water nor mowed,
but it is mowed twice each year
and then persistently grows back
waist high and only
Mexican mowers walk on it.
Dogs walk people so they can
sniff, pee, and shit; and old people
pick up dog poop and tie their shoes
while they’re down there. Few
run or jog and the mockingbirds mock
purposefully and others mock back.
The dogs don’t care and
the cats aren’t there and
the mower would upset them
and the walkers walk, maybe
to stop and talk. It’s somebody’s birthday
before it gets too hot,
it’s a dogless walk day for me.
Eat healthy, exercise, walk the dog, and look both ways.
Mind the sidewalk gaps.
One thought on “Poetry: Dog Poop”
Settling in for a long, boring 4th quarter. Life is a bad rerunical, veritable varietal Groundhog Day.
LikeLiked by 1 person