You’ll be glad to know that since retiring from my work in public relations at UNC, I’ve decided to devote my time to writing. Serious writing. The highfalutin kind.
My short-short story, “To-Do List of a First-Time Teleworker,” published in this month’s edition of Carolina Woman, is evidence of this. It is a genuine account of the dangers of teleworking, so please beware!
And now, I turn to poetry, a medium which should be used only to address life’s most serious questions. Today we cover a recent transgression of the highest order that occurred at home. All we know for sure was that Johnny’s sausage biscuit disappeared from the counter. Warning! This isn’t your usual whodunnit. It’s a whodoggit.
The Great Biscuit Caper
The setting? Breakfast time!
Let’s set the caper to rhyme.
Who would dare to risk it?
Who would snatch a biscuit?
We must reenact the crime!
The short one had crumbs on his snout!
But he did not act alone, no doubt
He had a taller accomplice….
with a reputation far from spotless
Next time we’ll dine in, not out!
Now that you’ve seen the evidence, who do you think is to blame? If you have a dog at home, I think you’ll understand!