Another dog

I pursued along those streets

a wandering dog, unnecessary,

to know whither go

nightly trotting dogs.

Only a thousand times he halted

to urinate in remote places

and continued as if he had

to receive a telegram.

He continued and crossed corners,

parks, villages and nations,

and I behind the promenader

to know whither he was going.

He continued ceaselessly beyond

shantytowns full of rubbish,

bridges deserted and useless

when carriages were asleep.

Regiments, schools,

statues of dead bronze,

the sadness of brothels

and weary cabarets,

we crossed, the dog ahead

and I, tired as a dog.

Pablo Neruda