A poem that amused me.
So, on my lunch today, on a whim, I picked up a dog magazine called Bark!
It had a poem in it that nearly caused me to have a conniption from giggling in the middle of the cafe. At any rate, I decided to share. Because it's an amusing poem on its own merits. (And DFers will more than likely identify the in-joke that made me nearly have a conniption from giggling.)
Clancy the Dog
-- For Claire {No, not you, Calire. The author just seems to know a Claire. XD}
He is so ugly he is a psalm to ugliness,
this extra-terrestrial, short-haired
midget sea lion,
snorts, farts, grunts, turns somersaults
on his mistress' bed.
She calls him an imperfect Boston Terrier,
part gnome, part elf,
half something and half something else,
180,000,000-year-old Clancy
with his yellowy-white, pin-pointy teeth
and red, mis-shapen pre-historic gums.
Clancy has no tail at all and doesn't bark.
He squeaks like a monkey,
flies through the air,
lands at six every morning
on his mistress' head,
begging to be fed and wrapped not in a robe
but a spread.
Tree frog, wart hog, ground hog,
"Clancy, Clancy," she calls for him
in the early morning fog,
and he appears, anything, anything,
part anything but a dog.
- Robert Sward
*snicker* Clancy.
Anyway, that is all!
It had a poem in it that nearly caused me to have a conniption from giggling in the middle of the cafe. At any rate, I decided to share. Because it's an amusing poem on its own merits. (And DFers will more than likely identify the in-joke that made me nearly have a conniption from giggling.)
Clancy the Dog
-- For Claire {No, not you, Calire. The author just seems to know a Claire. XD}
He is so ugly he is a psalm to ugliness,
this extra-terrestrial, short-haired
midget sea lion,
snorts, farts, grunts, turns somersaults
on his mistress' bed.
She calls him an imperfect Boston Terrier,
part gnome, part elf,
half something and half something else,
180,000,000-year-old Clancy
with his yellowy-white, pin-pointy teeth
and red, mis-shapen pre-historic gums.
Clancy has no tail at all and doesn't bark.
He squeaks like a monkey,
flies through the air,
lands at six every morning
on his mistress' head,
begging to be fed and wrapped not in a robe
but a spread.
Tree frog, wart hog, ground hog,
"Clancy, Clancy," she calls for him
in the early morning fog,
and he appears, anything, anything,
part anything but a dog.
- Robert Sward
*snicker* Clancy.
Anyway, that is all!