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Dog
Bob Dorough
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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The dog trots freely in the street and sees reality
And the things he sees are bigger than himself
And the things he sees are his reality
Drunks in doorways, moons on trees
The dog trots freely through the street
And the things he sees are smaller than himself
Fish on newsprint, ants in holes
Chickens in Chinatown windows, their heads a block away
The dog trots freely in the street
And the things he smells smell something like himself
The dog trots freely in the street
Past puddles and babies, cats and cigars
Poolrooms and policemen
He doesn't hate cops, he merely has no use for them
And he goes past them, past the dead cows hung up whole
In front of the San Francisco meat market
He would rather eat a tender cow than a tough policeman
Though either might do
He goes past the Romeo Ravioli factory
Past Coit's Tower, past Congressman Doyle
He's afraid of Coit's Tower
But he's not afraid of Congressman Doyle
Although what he hears is very discouraging
Very depressing, very absurd
To a sad young dog like himself
To a serious dog like himself
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But he has his own free world to live in
His own fleas to eat, he will not be muzzled
Congressman Doyle is just another fire hydrant to him
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The dog trots freely in the street
And has his own dog's life to live and to think about
And to reflect upon
Touching and tasting and testing everything
Investigating everything without benefit of perjury
A real realist with a real tale to tell
And a real tail to tell it with
A real live barking democratic dog
Engaged in real free enterprise
With something to say about ontology
Something to say about reality
And how to see it and how to hear it
With his head cocked sideways at street corners
As if he is just about to have his picture taken for Victor Records
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Listening for his master's voice
And looking like a living question mark
Into the great gramophone of puzzling existence
With its wondrous hollow horn
Which always seems just about to spout forth
Some victorious answer to everything
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