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. 

"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.