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Paula Swanson
Poems
Aug 2010
Hair Of The Dog
As my Precious sits on my desk,
shedding and watching with interest.
I take a drink from my cup.
A hair sticks to my tongue..eew yuk.
She is pleased with herself and wags,
her tail, hair flies off like flags.
They are small, black and everywhere.
Making patterns on all of the chairs.
Little drifting smiles of hair,
residing on my clothes without care.
This much hair from a small Chihuahua,
it's not possible, no not at all.
It's not as if she's going bald.
But then, Kojack, she could be called.
Oh look! You have some hair that she's shared.
I'll take care of that, you wait right there.
I'll just run and get my trusty lint roller.
Better yet! I'll get my leaf blower.
Just a bit of fun to clear the mind.
Written by
Paula Swanson
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