A scene greets my gaze as I bound down the stairs:
My mom and my dog ‘cross the room.
The first is quite mad and is standing stock still,
The second prepares for her tomb.
I watch the scene slowly unfold with the air,
Of a duel ‘tween two favorite champs,
And I think to myself as I stare at my dog,
“She hasn’t got a biggeting chance.”
My mom flings her arm towards the dog-darning proof:
Two socks and a much-chewed-up shoe,
And she says in a voice that thunders with fury,
“That’s IT! Dog, I’m all done with you!”
I leap to Dog’s aid and drag her away,
Her tail alive with new spite,
As she barely escapes from the murderous wrath,
That ought to have made her contrite.
My mom fumes at me now instead of the dog,
And I listen with head rightly bent.
Her reprimand’s tough but I hold on until,
Her bitter cold fury is spent.
Later that day I walk down the stairs,
Ending my coward’s retreat,
And I see on the couch in a rock-solid sleep,
My mom with the dog at her feet.
should make a good Mother's Day Present, don't you think?