I Ran Over Your Dog–A Poem

I ran over your dog.

It was the rat-like thing with the cow spots and the bone-jarring yap, right?

I didn’t mean to.

It just jumped out at me and I feared for my fender.

I tried to swerve

to hit it head on and make it quick

and painless

and less barky.

I’m sorry.

I promise to scoop it up

instead of just leaving it there for the beetles to attend to.

Or someone to step in.

I am a responsible pet-killer.

Let this not be an awkward hurdle

in our occasional, convivial tète-à-tètes.

I still want to be the closest of acquaintances.

I look forward to meeting your new dog!

****

I offer this in honor of poetry week in my son’s class.  It’s no Jabberwocky, I’ll grant you, but nothing is.  Mind, no dogs were actually killed in the writing of this poem, so stuff your canine-loving hate mail in another inbox.  :0)

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Bitch Fest 2012

So, I’ve been kicking myself the past few days to get a blog in (and to clean the cat box).  I keep getting email notifications from blogs I subscribe to.  These overachievers are churning out, like, three blogs a week.  What the hey?  How do they have time to do other writing?  Or shit-box cleaning?  Or basic self-hygiene tasks?

[Grumble, spit, bleepin’ making me look bad]

Well, the cat box got cleaned today (and let me tell ya, that was a doozy) and here I am blogging about not wanting to blog.  Who doesn’t want to read this crap-laced blog post?

Have you seen this cat? She has been missing since last fall. Other cats have since been pooping in her box. I miss her.

Actually, I’ve been quite busy writing the past two weeks.  Submitted a 13,000 word story under my dirty pen name and cranked out 20,000 words in the past three weeks or so (again, dirty pen) and now the guilt of not spiffing up a dormant horror story and trying to find a home for it, and not working on that zombie long pork story I started weeks ago (200 words or so–if you can call that starting), and not editing and sending to betas the other two novels sitting in my C drive, well, it’s really getting me down.

Damn, that was a long sentence.  My apologies.

Tack on to that the fact that I write a newsletter for my daylily society which I try to get out in spring and fall.  But spring sprang and now I am feeling the pressure and a lack of initiative.  Add to that the fact that I keep getting these frackin’ back spasms and have been popping Flexeril like candy.  Not only does my back still kill me, but I feel like the walking dead.  Muscle relaxers suck-it big time.  I’m so tired, and gazing at a computer screen with a warm pack on my back inspires me only to sleep, unfortunately.  And oh the dry mouth.  I shake my fist at you, Flexeril.  And to my back, the bird.

In more exciting news, “Childhood Nightmares: Under the Bed” from Sirens Call Press is now out both digitally and in paperback.  Super cool.  I’m looking forward to holding a real copy in my hands, but for now, I content myself with reading my Kindle version.

Awesomesauce.

Anyway, I’ll get off my gripe horse and take my little human beans to bed (yes, we’ve been reading “The BFG” by Roald Dahl–I enjoy scaring the crap out of reading to my children).

Now I can check “blog” off of my to do list.  Yeehaw!

See you next week or so.  Same time, same bad jokes, and same stinky cat box.