Next to my condo complex is a house where a dude breeds dobermans (dobermen?). They wake me up every day. I know this poem plays on stereotypes—dog, German, otherwise. But it’s for a friend who teaches philosophy and sometimes dresses up as Nietszche. Also, my son asked what he could do because he was bored. I said, paint something? He chose the dogs he could see from his window. The poem is below the cut.