Hurley Has an Itch


I have a distant place,
A spot, a site,
My nose never seems to reach,
Hidden somewhere between
My butt and my feet,
And does it itch and scratch,
A crawling pervasive tickle,
Which smells like me,
And day old pickles,
Speaking of food,
I love to stare at your plate,
When you dine,
To look at you,
I love to eat,
Whatever you’re having,
Looks good to me,
This maybe that,
Or something with jelly,
Give me some,
Whatever it is,
I don’t care,
I’m right here,
The dog by your leg,
Oh, I’ve no time to spare,
The scratching calls,
I twist like a tiny black goat
soon I hope, it will be gone,
from my furry coat.

–Richard Bryant


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