Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Poem: His Name Is Chewie

I really love my dog. His name is Chewie.
Here's a picture of the two of us:

Chewie standing in the car:

Chewie standing in the car with his summer cut:

Chunkier than you thought, huh? He's part pug, so it's all rock-solid muscle under that long hair and loose skin.

I love my dog Chewie so much that I wrote this poem about him.

His Name Is Chewie

If you don't like my dog,
then I don't like you.
That's not a joke,
not hyperbole,
not the speaker speaking.
That is me, poet,
telling you, reader,
If you don't like my dog,
then I don't like you.
If you aren't a dog person:
make an exception.
If you don't think
I will bring this to you:
it's been broughten.
This could be a serious problem.

His head is huge,
you wonder how he walks,
until he gets wet,
and his head is tiny,
like a chicken nugget.
His body is fluffy,
you think he's a cotton ball,
until he gets wet,
and he's a meat barrel.
This pughuameranian is amazing.

His paws are like stilettos.
His legs are like toothpicks
stuck in a furry potato.
He'll prance across your tender spots
with little regard for your tender spots.
Be prepared,
because he jumps in laps,
and if you push him down,
I'll kick your fucking teeth in.
It makes me nauseous to think
what I would do to you,
your face blown out like a cherry
bomb went off in your mouth.
He grunts all the time.
He talks in sweet grunts.

He's fierce like a wolf
but everyone loves him
because he's so sweet.
His eye boogers are syrup and honey.
He runs at least
five miles per hour.
We bought stairs for our couch,
but sometimes he jumps anyway.
No one has ever said
he isn't the best dog.


2 comments:

  1. I only sometimes like your dog,
    because of his tude.
    He is a ray of sunshine
    that shits in your mouth.
    He sits just out of reach,
    moping the day away,
    wishing that I would expire

    ReplyDelete
  2. How do you think he creates demand?

    You have to leave your public wanting more.

    ReplyDelete