Dogtrack

I won't ask foolish questions, such asWhy must the dog run?It could refuse to run.

I also won't ask, for instance,Why pursue a mechanical bunny?It could refuse to go faster.

The song of progress blares out loudIt is the work of machines to wear the animals down.I, too, ran on that track, sunning away my childhood,Now the grind of work pummels and pulls me apart.

The gate flies opens, and someoneKeeps striking the starting gong, a beehive. Women sit wearing hats, even late at night,I sit too, ten fingers tapping my keyboardA greyhound in its sandpit, legs pounding round its circuit, its hell.

As if those on the field were just waiting for the show to end,As if they were to curve into a question mark and that was the answer,As if the world were only black and white,Only owners and workers, gamblers and gawkers.

In their World of Difference, they perform their noisy pantomime.As for us, their loyal friends,When we ask for a response, they lift a leg.