|"Barking Pup" from Petwave|
The outside air is fresh as a small town can get,
A whiff of burning wood to ash,
And the air is full of cold chills up the spine
With leafless trees hanging lonely like skeletons.
In the closet, are moth balls surrounded by a fence
Who yap all day long, and every day after.
They wag their little tails back and forth
And seem really cute at first,
Certainly their bark is worse than their bite;
Just don't get too close.
One yap from these little smudges, echoes
Through the dry air like a megaphone.
Don't get me wrong I like a good dog,
But these ones are hell hounds at night.
One minute there is wonderful silence
And the next there is a bite to the ear.
Sanity is growing weaker with every yap
And mentality is drained with every snap
Like a shock to the brain, twisting the knife
And don't get me wrong, I like a good dog,
But not yappers who bring on the blight.
Maybe one day I will punt one into the air
And maybe that will get them out of my hair.
For now I will torture myself through the pain
With every yap yapper on this lane.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Yappers of Pine Street
My neighbors have little dogs that they let out into the back yard every once in a while. I call them yappers because that is literally all they do. They are the gun and the slightest sound being made is the trigger. I can't even open my sliding door to go out onto the back porch without them noticing. So here is a poem dedicated to those little yappers.