stroll through the hills
and shallow
valleys
of Central Park, i see
the gangs
of dogs,
each to his own leash
tethered together
by one arm,
one voice,
the dog walker.
do the dogs care
about being so close?
do they wish to run into
the wide
open fields still covered
in snow.
following their
own nose.
are they concerned
that they
have no choice, in this life,
but to go
where they all go,
regardless.
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