fun poem

his gaping mouth is practically unhinged.

but there's no bark or bite left in this tired, sack of s**t, mutt.

he'll crawl under the porch and in a few days,

we'll smell him, and find him.

maggots pouring out of his hollow eyesockets.

our children will cry.

we'll find a spot under a tree in the yard,

dig a hole and toss him in.

worms will feed, grass will grow, and we'll forget.

 

 

Reviews

[Robin]

you definitely have your own style , this is great writing .