I had intended to write a poem about the pleasures of
a lazy Sunday morning
when sweet little Puppy
who, moments ago, was peacefully dozing –
turned into a snarling, twisting mass of claws and teeth
intent on destroying his striped dog bed –
the peculiar object of his rage.
He is Nero, Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun
rolled into one!
At all costs, the bed must be destroyed
My pride depends upon it!
he would say,
if he could say
but the bed wins this time.
Its stripes are crumpled and deflated but…
it is not quite obliterated…
So Puppy stalks off, bored and sated,
and like any good conquistador
he is soon curled up on the floor
asleep again, his head bobbing with dreams
of a new conquest, a new dominion ruled supremely
by King Puppy.