It was the night before midnight,
when from under my bed,
I heard a plunky rustling,
as if something had woken the dead.
I looked for my Tater,
who should be all snuggled and snore,
but all I could find,
was a slobbery receipt,
from the nearby hemp-it-up music store.
The plunky turned funky,
at first with a laugh,
then a whiffling waffle,
like old men passing stale gas.
Horrified but intrigued,
I hid in my sheets,
fetal-ed into a ball,
cursing my unwashed flip-flopped cold feet.
The wheezing and whining got louder and brass,
and as crass as this sounds,
it was either face that, or my garlic-pizza eating...
So I poked my head out, who's there?
whimpering a try of a shout,
but only the moon, bloated, and bleary,
cast me a wild eye of indignant, incredulous, doubt.
Tater, I clucked, quietly to myself,
Tater... listening for the clink,
of her collar and tags,
but only the wind,
scratched and schreeched, out-of-sync,
a croak, caught in my throat,
I fell silent, insert a joke here about wanting a goat,
cause I have and it rhymes, with throat and with float, but,
The silence was brief, about a waist thirty two,
seconds, then blaring, a fog-raging barge from out of the blue-
there rose a great beast,
one, or perhaps, two,
bulges were bouncing, blasting their booms,
but my eyes and my brain couldn't, didn't want to in general assume,
So I yawned, closed my eyes, and said screw-all, gave up,
when the beast snorted, a familiar sort of sea-lion,
plush, toasted, and fried, gentle up-chuck-
Get Up!
Tater! I cried flipping on the light,
immediately the words, oh-so-not-right,
fright, sight, oh-my-god, why, shite,
came to my fragile, muddled, midnight-mash
of a mind,
Tied to her back and floating in the air,
were bevy of squeak-inducing balloons,
pinks, reds, yellows, and blues,
small dogs, large dogs, one zebra, and a prancing moose.
But that I could handle, sort of,
my dog is unique,
but it was the bagpipes she clutched,
that turned my knees weak.
Licking her chops, as if spying a bird,
she raised one of her eyebrows, and started playing a dirge.
I cringed, and clawed my way further under the sheets
watching the show, not knowing what to think.
She paraded around the room, with a definitive air,
Turkey in the Straw, some Bach, and I thought I heard,
some off-color Santa Claus tune,
that had her dancing and jiggling,
in a zoo-ish strip-tease parade of balloons.
I blushed, when she stopped,
and proceed to point,
to the ceiling,
wagging her tail,
glorious saliva, dripping, grinning,
looking up slowly,
unsure what I would see,
she had taken her dog food,
and written,
I love you, (sometimes)
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
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