Walking the Dog In Memory of Duke
By Robert Jaeger
The rope is worn smooth.
The frayed loop at the end chafes
Though my fingers grip the knot
As this tenacious tan dog
Drags me around our small town.
Long lead or short makes no difference.
He is always at the bitter end,
Straining at the next bird or squirrel
Or dog or cat, or place to piss,
The next pile of waste or invisible trace
Of those who passed before.
If I try to change the route
Or simply slow down to consider,
To meet these moments on my terms,
He jerks me straight,
Pulls me back to his pressing needs.
I am mostly patient with him.
He makes my arm strong
And reminds me how the world works,
How the ravenous dogs of desire
And worry, of anger and fear,
These and all their starving pups
Drag me across the rough edges of the world
No matter how I wish to sit,
Or set my course, or set my heart.
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