Symbiosis
By
Kenneth Lee
I sit with my thermos of coffee on the mall:
a mile-long promenade, arcades of elms
flanking a generous aliquot of benches.
But at this early hour it starts to dawn:
I am the only one without a dog.
So, a witness to an ancient symbiosis,
as it's evolved within a modern city:
The dogs, I note, are smaller, the owners
less ferocious. The former sniff then poop,
the latter, like potty-training parents, pat their heads,
gather it in plastic doggy-bags.
It's no longer for the hunt or for protection;
both species have adapted to survive
hard loneliness inside a small apartment.
a mile-long promenade, arcades of elms
flanking a generous aliquot of benches.
But at this early hour it starts to dawn:
I am the only one without a dog.
So, a witness to an ancient symbiosis,
as it's evolved within a modern city:
The dogs, I note, are smaller, the owners
less ferocious. The former sniff then poop,
the latter, like potty-training parents, pat their heads,
gather it in plastic doggy-bags.
It's no longer for the hunt or for protection;
both species have adapted to survive
hard loneliness inside a small apartment.
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Disclaimer
We do not accept unsolicited submissions. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2017 by Kenneth Lee, "Symbiosis," from Ibbetson Street, (No. 42, 2017). Poem reprinted by permission of Kenneth Lee and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.