Thursday, July 30, 2009

I See London

I see London.
I see France.
I see poopy underpants.

In my side yard.
By our meter.
They don't belong to me.
Nor to Peter.

I live in a bucolic little ole burb.
Finding pooped-in underwear?
That's mighty absurd.

5 comments:

Sophie said...

Definitely this is one of your more "interesting" poetic endeavors, Patty! One never knows what will inspire them to write! LOL

Major Bedhead said...

Ick. Ick, ick, ick. Who DOES that? (Great rhyme, though.)

Janet said...

I would never look at the meter reader without suspicion ever again.

Jocelyn said...

Errrr...maybe someone was out walking her dog, and the dog pooped, and she didn't have a plastic bag along with which to scoop up the offending pile, so she then took off her own underwear and scooped up the dog poop...and then, suddenly, was struck by how odd and gross the whole situation was, so she dropped the undies and poop and ran home.

Screaming like.

Coal Miner's Granddaughter said...

EWWWWWW! Nasty!

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