To—all you old
fat July
hordes of sun-greasy
flies that keep
slowbuzzing loop-
de-loop
wakes through my gangway—scram!
And make
way!—
because
here come the furious wet
jaws of your
worst nightmare—
a fed-
up
and incredulous
deadeye dachshund-beagle—
who's not
nearly as
amused—as her
handler
might be
with how—it could ever even
possibly be! that you're all
at once—
both so
pathetically lazy—
and so
very
very delirious?