I don’t have a dog.
That statement seems significant somehow,
Like I’m on the verge of an epiphany.
The thing is, I’m only stating the obvious:
I don’t have a dog.

So, what is this?
Sitting alone at a dog park, is this envy
Or just unbridled wanting?
I suppose most people just go buy a dog.
Problem solved, right?
What if the dog doesn’t like me?
Do dogs choose people?

Visiting a dog park without a dog is suspicious.
Maybe even pathetic.
The void circumference holds sights
And sounds away from me.
I might as well be on the other side of the fence
Looking in, dogs running, tails wagging,
The barrier is that tangible.

What am I really missing?
Scheduled walks, food, fresh water,
Picking up shit?
I can’t have a dog.
I can’t be away from the internet
Long enough to walk a dog.

Facebook is a dog substitute, right?
There’s the illusion of accomplishment.
Of course, there are leashes there, too.
Facebook games want you to add friends,
But those needs exceed the FB friend request limits.
You get one warning,
Then you’re profile is terminated.
It hurts when facebook bites.
Whether the pack kills you directly
Or simply runs you off,
You’re still effectively dead.

Yeah, I don’t have a dog.
I should know what that means
Because it seems significant somehow.
Perhaps an undiscovered metaphor.

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