Fabric on the ground
Measure and pin.
Ah! A helper!
Sit on the fabric
Upset the pins
Give me kisses
Crawl into my lap
Production stops.
Canine cuddles provided,
into isolation you go.
Work resumes.
poem- trim time March 9, 2014
Your toe nails
echo in the hall like
a cavalcade of snare drums.
Thundering timpanic tribulation
of tip tapping echoing through my brain,
draining me of peace.
Your toe nails
four times four feet times two
(two square roots of feet)
Are a private percussion section
depriving me of sleep.
.
.
.
I need to trim the dogs’ toe nails.
Arg.
Shawn L. Bird 