Whose poop this is, I think I know,
His yard is ’round the corner, though.
He will not see me stopping here
to sniff his poop while She screams “No!”
I think my mistress oh-so-queer
to yank my leash when poop’s so near.
The only other scents are fake—
her stale perfume and last night’s beer.
She gives my leash another shake
as if there might be some mistake
I plant my paws, for poop is sweet
I sniff some more, then eat my cake
and have it, too. Poop can’t be beat.
My mistress stamps her pointy feet,
insisting poop is bad to eat.
insisting poop is bad to eat.
Michele Leavitt’s poems have been published in a variety of journals and anthologies, including Underground Voices, Rattapallax, Slant, Wind, Yellow Silk II: International Erotic Stories and Poems, and The Powow River Anthology. Her brother-in-law once described her as bizarre, but her sister claims she’s merely eccentric.
