My dogs make me feel secure. Mostly.
I’m going to have to bite you.
I hope that isn’t rude.
It’s just that I hate burglers.
Wait! Do you have food?
You broke into my house.
I hope I don’t seem coy.
So, now I have to kill you.
Wait! A squeaky toy?
The intruder has been neutralized.
She’s as dead as day-old fish.
Mom looked at me in horror.
She said, “That was your Aunt Trish.”
Oops.
Author: Blind John Ellsworth
Blind John Ellsworth (1960- ), a (questionable) poet and sometimes Texas bluesman. He has recorded one spoken-word album (thankfully unreleased), since he is still trying to learn to play guitar. (Lack of musical skills is what makes him a poet and not a lyricist. Plus, he can’t write music.)
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