Forward Lunge

We passed the wrinkled toe of a respectable tree
at the outermost point of a marathon march
intended to wear out the dog.
He paid it no improper attention,
being focused on easily beating the challenge
he had no knowledge of.
And as he strained the leash along the boardwalk over the bog,
the dog gave the squabbling ducks no more
than courtesy's inspection.
The overhead geese in their ragged vees 
were beneath his regard; only other dogs and people
and peculiar smells rated a brief diversion;
otherwise, it was only the forward lunge
he hungered for, toward whatever lay ahead,
to desperately want, to call, to reach, to catch,
to eat, and to chase again.

January 3 2012