Poem about walking my dogs in East Nashville

Eight fur draped legs march by my side
One strong as oak, one pocket sized

We navigate the crumbling roads
Paths paved with glass and chicken bones

Veer left or right for shortcuts gravelled
Lined with refuse, cat shit, scrabble

These things three to them smell sweet
A sniff’s just fine, but please don’t eat.

A tug, a “no,” a “drop that” - “don’t!”
Their wagging tails shift to a groan

Then once again we meet the road
To slowly make our way back home