Little yippy dog
Your death is imminent and
I dance on your grave
I know you wondered how I felt about the neighbor’s small dog that I’ve never seen. Happy Tuesday haiku. Don’t even ask me about the one I *have* seen who wanders onto our property, barking at nothing and no one.
I’ve complied a list of seldom-asked questions, because, why not?
Does your 15-year-old son tower above you now?
Is it true that your Dad’s family used to own Thomas Jefferson’s violin?
Glad you asked that. Yes, it’s true. When my paternal great-grandmother’s estate was settled, it got sold along with a bunch of other things. What can I say? It’s a small world.
What about Thomas Jefferson’s nose flute? What became of that?
No idea. Nor do I want to know.
If you were stranded on a desert island, what wouldn’t you want with you?
Politicians. Mosquitoes. Sunburn. Pretzels, because then I would get thirsty.
Rumor has it you and Brad Pitt almost went out on a date.
Almost is such a tricky word.
If you put all the straws in the world end to end, what would you have?
A mighty long straw. Or maybe an ant pipeline.
A train leaves Tulsa heading north at 2:00 and another train leaves Chicago heading west at 3:00. When and where would they intersect?
A story problem? Seriously? A better question would be “does it matter?”
Why did the pigeon cross the road?
Clean cars awaited on the other side.
And last, but not least…