Against Disorder

by David Ackley


                                 It is true that the college dogs

                                 spread vermin,  reeked, shat on

                                 the soccer field where it waited,

                                 smoking, fetid, dire as only shit can be, 

                                 for the white shoes of visiting teams splendid

                                 in their new uniforms, their preppy haircuts

                                  -- secret weapon, along with our girls, barefoot, 

                                  overalled, bobbing after the ball. 


                                  And that the dogs themselves

                                  sometimes bunted the ball

                                  out of bounds when a score threatened against us,

                                  that they'd been known to show teeth to the                                       opposition, 

                                  to piss on their tires;

                                  that they did it doggy style before

                                  the library porch on parents' day,

                                  dogged the steps of the president in packs

                                  and howled outside his door at night so he heard

                                  bears and wolves and students howling like dogs.

                                  Still, why have rules on them as if they were

                                  lesser? Exemplars among us,

                                  so fine without laws.