My Dog Ate My Poem

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she replied-
“You must have a copy,
a computer-file backup?”

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it,
and then peed on my computer,
and the computer went *KAZAPP!*,
and destroyed the backup files.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she insisted-
“Surely you have had time
to write another?”

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it,
and then peed on my computer,
and the computer went *KAZAPP!*,
and destroyed the backup files,
and shocked the dog,
so we took the dog to the vet,
and it was raining
and I caught cold
and spent the day in bed.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she scolded.
“Surely, spending the day in bed,
gave you plenty of time
to think about a poem to write?”

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it,
and then peed on my computer,
and the computer went *KAZAPP!*,
and destroyed the backup files,
and shocked the dog,
so we took the dog to the vet,
and it was raining
and I caught cold
and spent the day in bed
with a 103 degree fever
and I was delirious and incoherent.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she declared-
“I write my best poetry
when I’m high or stoned and delirious
or otherwise incoherent.”

I know, I said.
That explains a lot-