Every dog has his day

[Jerrybaldy]

This is the testament of a dying man.
The grass was steaming in the morning sun,
I built a bird table.
I don’t like birds,
but I love to make them furniture.
This is the testament of a dying man.
I walked the dog in the rain,
our six legs splashed muddy puddles.
I looked him in the eye
sat home, steaming by the fire.
He looked like his dog years were done.
‘Don’t go starting a big bone, boy’.
I made love to my wife,
from behind whilst she deboned a chicken.
She looked with lust at the knives
and I scored my performance a five.
Once again I made my last meal
I chewed that fillet as the sun went down
I held my beer to the sky
And sang ‘this’ll be the day that I die’.
I found her diary wrapped in underwear,
it fantasised of chicken knives
and awarded me a one point five.
Her testament of a dying woman
was held in my liverspot hand
as the grass was steaming in the morning sun.

[everyadventure]

Um. Hmm. Well. I guess I have no intellectual property on deboning chickens.

I liked "our six legs splashed muddy puddles."

[Jerrybaldy]

You have complete ownership of deboning chickens and it is included as a homage and a link across litnet. I do so like such esoteric referrals :D

[qimissung]

It's gawgeous, jerrybaldy. Hmmm, a lot of yours seem to be about impending death. Are you alright?

[AuntShecky]

This is finely realized, scathingly funny and poignant at the same time, like the poems of Philip Levine.
You just keep getting better and better.

[Jerrybaldy]

I am good thanks qim. Aunty, I am always surprised by your comments . Thank you.