O dog,
O cynic,
O cur,
you satisfy yourself
in the public square,
wishing hunger
could be relieved
by rubbing the belly.
You walk out of brothels
as one would
a barbershop.
You lounge,
languid and alone,
on the steps of Raphael,
impeding the progress
of even mighty Aristotle.
No Academy,
no Lyceum,
just a wooden barrel,
your possessions
nearly none,
more Socratic
than Socrates.
You bark and growl,
piss upon your enemies.
O dog,
O vagrant,
O bum,
natural man,
naked of fear,
your sole need
is for the king
to stop blocking
your sun.
About the Author: Jacob Friesenhahn is the author of the poetry collection The Prayer of the Mantis (Kelsay Books, 2025). This poem appears here for the first time.