sNOw Fish

January 30, 2009
The snow chills my feet
Turning them into glass
Subconsciously I think
How amazing it would be under my sheet

I continue to walk through concrete
I see my house as I'm in this morass
Trying my hardest to blink
I arrive at my house and see Pete

He looked at me with discrete
Then offered me a grilled bass
Which tasted like ink
So I dropped it under my seat

For my dog Bingo to eat.
But I think he'd rather eat grass
Then to eat that thing of stink
Still I told Pete that he was sweet

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