My Dog Writes Poetry
Yesterday, I walked outside to accept a delivery and The Boy opened the door allowing Her Name is Rio to finally meet her presumed nemesis. It was a scary moment for everyone. Me, with my hands full of packages and sigining instruments. The delivery man, exclaiming, running. The Boy, saying, “This is my dog!” with a happy-go-lucky air about him. And Her Name is Rio, snarling. As if she’s some sort of tough dog.
Grrr.
The end result?
A poem.
To The Man Who Rang The Doorbell
By Her Name is Rio
I bark at you because I do not know you;
I bark at you because I am fierce;
I bark at you because I am top dog.
I bark,
I bark,
I bark,
Alas,
Fear not the hair standing atop my back;
Nor the teeth bared and sharp;
Nay, not even the snarl escaping my lungs.
I am all bark and no bite.
Unless you are a small yipping dog.
Which you are not.
Good-bye, good sir,
I’m sorry to have caused thee fright.
P.S. I hope your pants are clean.
Message to Her Name is Rio: Your poetry lacks substance.
