a letter of apology,
which I delivered to kind strangers
who live in my neighbourhood

As my Rose walked by
this morning, she did spy
the perfect place to do
her stinky greyhound poo.

She left it on your lawn
at six o’clock this morn.
I reached into my pouch,
full of poo-bags, I would vouch.

Alas! Gosh darn it! F#@k!
See, I was out of luck — 
Whichever way I’d stare,
the pouch was, sadly, bare.

And so began my caper.
Right then, I spied your paper
in a tidy plastic wrap,
just perfect for her crap.

I opened it with joy,
as if it were a toy
and I were still a child.
(My, isn’t my life wild?)

I laid your news back down
neatly on the ground
next to your front right tyre.
(I thieve, but I’m no liar.)

Now, with my hand in plastic,
and feeling quite fantastic
(and perhaps a bit absurd),
I gathered up that turd.

I realised, with regret,
your paper might get wet
or blown around by wind, 
but I could not rescind.

I checked around the place
so as not to leave a trace.
Then we resumed our jog
with our little bag of bog.

Sorry, thank you, and I hope your newspaper didn’t get damp or windblown!

🙂 Tamyka Bell