Do-Ing The Dog
Don't know if they are out of a job, recently fired
Or maybe amongst the ranks of newly tired
But from early morn til after eleven,
They walk the streets as if in heaven.
Always accompanied by man's best friend
With a plastic bag to put poop in.
They never stop to chat or make amends
For misplaced droppings that in my yard; ends.
Unaware that a dog's sign on a post
Means to other dogs, this gardeners's a host.
No way to erase the tell-tale watery flow
That to an azalea does death bestow.
Haps the economy will take a turn
And to some distant place they'll return.
Should new opportunities abound
I hope it's out of my hometown.
They can take their friend and all
To a new city and job that may enthrall
As long as it's far, far away
So my plants can live another day.