The Dog Walkers of New York City

by Philip Dacey

Sometimes it’s eight or ten at once,

a pack of hounds, all wag and bounce,

and every size and breed, you name it—

long hair, short hair, elegant, cute—

the leashed pack fanned out behind as if

a ship’s spread wake, all woof and sniff.

Or call it woolly performance art,

unison-strutting complete with arf;

the rush and blur of all these paws

win jaded city folks’ applause.

Behold man and beasts one organism,

urban centaur, for modern times,

and praise this canine potpourri,

harmonious, well-groomed community,

so radiant a crowd I think they stepped out

of some Greek myth, each dog a god’s pet.