Dog of a Man

by Jukebox Graduate

Posted to Poetry on 2003-07-29 22:34:00

Dog of a Man

Redline,
Harvard Square,
The fine edge of dim horizon
Where the end of the underground
Touches the resumption of sun and moon and street
Light

Here, a man hunches in a tattered blanket
Bending
humbled,
silent before his cardboard sign and tin bowl
Like the last remaining Buddhas

The people in the sidewalk current
Notice the motionless man
He knows their responses:
Walking faces and expressionless eyes,
Pound gavel-less verdicts of his existence

They either stare
Disgust or pity
Or pass with eyes handcuffed to the sidewalk.

Beside the man,
unshivering in the October night,
a small, spotted terrier
sniffs tirelessly foot and sidewalk

The city of the man
Is a fragile balance of glances and coins
Some days, many
Somedays, few

The city of the dog
Is a city of scents
Infinite and nameless
they are always there

The dog smells the man
He knows the sweat and urine
But by no names
His nose holds no stigma
These are but two scents in a wealth of sense


The man of the dog
Is not apart
from those who pass—
not much different
Because the dog knows,
No two men are alike

To the dog,
The man is a man
As
The professor smelling of soap in a linen suit
Or the lady holding her crying baby
Or the families hunched over bowls of steaming noodles
Are all men

And the man does not understand
His dog knows all this

Just as the dog does not understand
That his man feels
Most a man
When his wet dog-tongue
Kisses his stubbled man-face



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