Ode to Charlie Bucket
You looked at me with soulless eyes
your curled tail a pointed question
that nobody could answer.
It twitched once, twice.
Your hackles quivered,
giving the impression of danger
or perhaps annoyance.
There was no wagging -
you had me rapt, tense
I had no idea what to expect.
So, when you lowered your haunches,
and began to scootch across the carpet
dragging whatever horrible thing
you had eaten and passed
through your bowels, which had clung
to the wiry hair surrounding your little doggy anus,
the length of our living room carpet,
I was too taken aback to react quickly.
In one foul motion, you managed
distribution and amalgamation
it was beautiful, really
in a completely disgusting sense.
I would have applauded you,
had I not already banished your
fetid behind to the back yard.
Ah, but Charlie, you will return
and when you do
we will dance the tail holding,
attempt at escape from the bathtub jitterbug.
As I spray your posterior
with the detachable showerhead
nose crinkled in what could be mistaken for disgust
but must be affection
must be.
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