The hobbling, scrabbling man, white-haired,
Is dignified or maybe scared.
The eye of his dog with invisible sense
Elicits his grunt as he spies the green fence,
And he trots exultantly down the street
In search of a rancid new find to eat.
His master, the hobbling, grizzled man,
Holds down the items in his own brain pan
And shouts, “Oh no, you untamable dog,”
As he’s pulled to a graceless and spiritless jog.
He holds back the dog, whose eye is keen,
Who once jumped upon the interim dean,
Whose rump now trembles
As his demeanor resembles
An Albert Einstein about to explode
With the load
Of the photons that zap through his brain,
Leaving a stain
Of white and spreading heaven’s juice
That waters the spruce
Of this laudable hill
Where the picnickers still
Are ingesting the berries,
Then ride out on ferries
Where they drown in the hues
Of their own rainbow shoes.
Yaacov David Shulman