Not a Good Day to Walk the Dog

Wasted, serviceable, I walk alone by a pond.
I pass people who've come with their dogs,
Which they'll let drop their excrement onto
The snow, and move on. “Not my problem,”
They'll say to themselves. They'll be right.
In America, everyone rushes to shit first,
Then leave. Someone else can clean up,
Or, at least, that's how things have worked
Out in the past. Not today, though; a man
Who is wasted and gloved shouts, “I think
You forgot this,” then picks up their animals'
Still-steaming waste and aims it
Directly at them.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 26 times
Written on 2021-02-02 at 21:34

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