#21
I am under self imposed curfew, my right hand is dressed
In pure white, tight garment and I am too depressed
I wave my hand to my dog, but he too, is not impressed
I tell him, it´s a beef bone, he says, but it´s not even fresh
Anyways, he is too full, having eaten a chicken breast
Now, too sleepy and not in mood to hear my sickly jest
If I trouble him too much, he might become a perfect pest
Then his barking will continue until I lose my fixed address
The neighbours might sue me for stealing their beauty rest
They will accuse me blindly and invent reasons to harass
I will not be able to pacify them even if I stoop to caress
The law suit will go on for years and make me very aggress
sive
Godawful Poetry Fortnight
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