Dog

 

There is an ion in my pocket and I don’t care

I don’t even know how it got there

I know there’s something wrong with it’s electron

But what the hell, it’s not like it needs to be egged on

These things are simply a part of natural order

Like my toothbrush, my car or my amazing daughter

Suddenly I started thinking about the dog crap in my yard

Like magic it landed every day–never loud, never hard

It was squishy like pumpkin pie

I was being shit-bombed by a dog and a guy

I set up a watchtower beside my house

I made it off limits to my daughter and spouse

I went to Dick’s and bought a rod and reel, some line, and a tuna lure

I was going to hook the bastard from my tower for sure

Around 11.00 pm they came in my yard

I thought, “Oh my God, this is going to be hard.”

The person leaving the poop was my mother who lived down the street

I guess I have to concede defeat

I couldn’t hook my mother and reel her in

I didn’t have a net that she would fit in

Also, I didn’t have a gaff

As usual, my mother got the last laugh