I switch your food, which I will
do occasionally because I love you.
How could I accept your humility, and not at least offer you a little
After all, taste is one your treasures,
and we all need our treasures.
A garbage can, the litter box, anything expired, and the greatest
thing you could imagine -
looking up and seeing in the distant horizon - the sewer cover protecting
a vast depth of unimaginable wonder.
I’ve watched how you approach
it with anticipation, leaning slowly down savoring each moment,
savoring the bouquet - Ahhhhhhhhhhh heaven
BUT, pleasure comes at a price. Something
deep within the command module of your DNA
tells your digestive system to rebel. And those rebellious emissions
have a potency beyond description.
Not content with regular air disbursement,
your emission hovers flat like a deep humid air in a southern bog
- NOSE LEVEL - and hangs longer than a Michael Jordan jump shot.
Hanging with such intensity and thickness, that those around you
are moved beyond repulse. They are moved to incredible amazement
that such a thing can occur, from such a lovely piece of fur.
I am frustrated that in the year
2004 we cannot cure the common cold, OR keep the car from rusting.
BUT, we do have some consolation.
It's not Janet Reno, dear old Pinnachio,
or pistachio; not Lee Traveno, beautiful Art Deco, or a peep show;
Not a double salchow, a super hero, or a cappuccino,
but that magic little box, the drug
store calls, Beano.