I do not want to be
remembered for my urine.
In this I differ from
the chowchow and Welsh corgi
who yearn to soak the earth,
to imbue the foggy air,
with their unique pee scents,
who nose through the streets in search
of smells of dogs gone by,
and recorded for canine
history until rain
rinses hydrant and trunk.
If only I could so shed
skin or salt tear as I
tread my neighborhood and thus
plant in friends’ hearts my deeds
my ways, my thinking, my art—
civil equivalent
of dogs’ liquid legacy.
