She wants passion.
But I seek clarity.
For I have found happiness where she has forgotten it.
She tells me that I am calm through times of stress
I tell her I just chose to scream inside instead.
And through our discussion, we walk past piles of dog shit.
Humorously high, leaning, towers of broiling sidewalk, steaming dog shit.
Like tiny sundials on the asphalt, dog shit.
and we stop and marvel and say "Wow! What incredible piles of shit!"
And then we laugh.
And as time passes, and the shadows move, I notice the pile of shit has begun to fade.
Turning a dustier, more tired brown as it bakes in the sun
So I warn the pedestrians not to step in it because
who would want to wreck such a perfectly good pile of shit
on a day like today.
Because this day became a day
Where even dog shit was admired and morphed like clay.
