The dog buried it in the garden, in one of
Its many holes, it was a dog of course
Just not the normal dog,
No skin,
No fluff,
No idea?
Where it buried this which I needed,
Which I owned,
It was like a mole had been playing whacker
And dug up
50 mounds,
50 holes,
50 buried
But which was that which I needed to hold,
My hands waved too and froe,
I would talk but my anger  muffled
Not expressing my contempt but with a finger
Waving as my hands in a naughty silent
Window wiper motion,
"Bad dog"
"Bad boy"
"Bad reception"
A voice unheard,
"OK"
Right now I have a worm playing
Hide go seek in my cavity's, it tickles
My sockets, curls up in my nose,
Sticks you know what daddy will do,
And the last time this happened,
What did daddy do??
Legs in the bathroom,
Ribs keeping open the kitchen door,
And your skull was left outside in the cold,
"With a grumble"
"With a growl"
"With relief"
I saw the light,* and my body walked over,
My bony fingers rummaging around
Left a little,
Right a little,
Are you blind
And with that like a touch down,
My skull was finally found,
I rubbed the mud off
I took the worm from my nose,
I sat him on my rib, he had found a new home.
"Now boy"
"I know you like to bury"
"But daddies bones are a no go"
I give him a cuddle, stroked his bony head,
"What's skeleton to do"
When his dog likes to bury bones,
Last week he buried his tail, in one of those fifty holes,
And its still waggling, wiggling as we speak buried in a hole.