Somebody’s dog has gotten out. 

It’s the black generic sort.

I’m passing by in my car,

And the drama unfolds

As Verdi’s string Quartet

Gets to the part 

Where the bows saw violently across the strings.

The violins scream,

“No! Don’t run out in the road!”

And the dog nonchalantly saunters

Unaware how close he is to certain death,

And the cars are speeding along,

Unaware that there is a dog!

It’s a black, generic sort!

Luckily the dog has seen,

Or smelled, something stinky,

And has stopped, just short of the parking lot

That leads into the street,

And Verdi’s violins have, in sync, chosen 

To lengthen the strokes of their bows across the strings.

And now, a peaceful melody ensues.

And it seems that everything will be fine for the moment.

I have passed the scene, 

But the violins continue,

And the big bass cello has suddenly plunged in,

And I wonder how the dog will fare today.

Does his owner care or know

That he has ventured out,

And straight into Verdi’s E Minor String Quartet?

He, the dog, that is, is the black, generic sort.

-jenn