It Walks
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
It greets its own kind with an expectant wail
They may well converse and they may form a pack
But what do they keep in that very small sack
There’s others that come bearing more heads and limbs
And some that appear when the light of day dims
Its plans for a peaceful encounter can fail
Often the culprit has foreshortened tail
Quite unlike what might occur on the X-files
It doesn't spit fire but does hurl projectiles
It then splits in two, it knows where each one lands
And rushes them back to its other halve’s hands
It’s salvo continues ’til someone cries ‘ouch!’
One half then watches the other half crouch
It scans its surroundings to feed the small sack
Wherever it’s from it’s then time to go back
But first it must visit the red hi-vis bin
The small sack, now loaded, deposited in
Its travels may take it up hill or down dale
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
*
If you don’t get this, your minds full of fog
Or your brain just went south on a train
It’s only the tale of one man and his dog
So why don’t you read it again?
Copyright © Terry Flood | Year Posted 2021
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