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If you hate poetry — and who doesn’t? — relax, you won’t find a trace of it here. This
post is reserved for poetry’s little brother, doggerel, verse for the common man.
To Bob the Dog: Three Areas Where You Fall Short of Perfection
Bob, you need to work on your comportment.
You have some bad habits and an assortment
Of quirks, so I put my criticisms into dogg’rel
To help you remember, my little mongrel.
The Daily Walk
On walks, you sniff at every forken bush and tree
In a search for pheromones and bouquet of pee.
And just when I think we’re back on track,
We meet the poodle who lives in the back.
Then while my neighbor and I stare,
Your nose takes up residence in the chichi poodle’s rear.
And that, my Bobster, is an awkward occasion
When my neighbor is a person of the female persuasion.
You take up too much space when we sleep
By orienting yourself at angle oblique.
So instead of being able to catch a few Zs,
I end up searching for a place for my knees.
Unlike those clever dogs who play poker,
Your skills don’t rise above mediocre.
Your poker face, it’s true, can hide
Two pair of aces with a king on the side,
But your tail always betrays your fine hand:
It’s back there wagging to beat the band.
I’d rather not let any sleeping dogs lie,
So get yourself woke right now, little guy.