![]() Seeing ThingsA Poem by Zeb SmithAt twilight, we walk the three dogs in the park; our
bulldog pees on the oak trees we pass, marks the same
reeking trash can on the way back home. The
miniature schnauzers would rather roam chase the
fat gray squirrels and fast-food wrappers. To the
cat in the window, nothing matters. The
Smithsonian says man domesticated dogs
twenty to forty thousand years ago. They
originated from an extinct wolf. I don't
see the resemblance. We've debated creationism
and evolution. No one knows so we
pluck thick books from experts off the shelf fight
over god, whether it's science or art. To the
girl in the park, the dog is pretty to the
boy the dog's cool. None of us are smart enough to
know the thing's complete biology or what
makes music or a poem pretty. We
engineer ingenious things most don't see and even
when we're dead, others just repeat what
others say. And, the cat in the window just
wants to know why its two bowls are empty. Nothing
much matters that's not in the window. © 2022 Zeb SmithFeatured Review
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