Rough Water Oceans

Three men on a street corner
strike adversarial poses as they
discuss some Presidential
whim, their voices rise with eyes
determined to be heard.

Another man walks past
the scene - he witnesses dogs
barking: demanding attention,
issuing a territorial warning,
pissing on the ground.

A young girl cries
out at futility -
having the last word
reminds her:
the dogs' bark jabs
worse than their bite.

Congress cannot hear
the dogs braying
at the moon, nor can
it smell the odor
of territorial claims
marked by individuals.

Policies are like the past,
unmalleable. Individual
actions jumping hopscotch
on the sidewalk of now
incite the future's
course more certainly
than the most detailed
scheme politicians plot
through the crashing swells
of rough water oceans.