www.original-wit.net © 2017 by Steve Taite

Morning Zombies

At the witching hour,

Early morning,

The zombies are walking the streets.

With  only one eye open,

The slumber just broken

The cyclops admits his defeat.

The sidewalks deserted,

Their life is inverted

By four legs that are attached to a leash.

Holy cow it’s a weekend

But they are ruled by the best friend

Who’s poop he thinks smells like a quiche.


A dog  lives like a king

While you work

He does his own thing

Basically eating and getting his sleep.

When you get home he thrives

Takes you  captive, alive

And if you ignore him

You feel like a creep.


Sometimes it pours

While you both are outdoors,

Still he won’t do it

‘Till he finds the right spot.

You both get drenched to the bone

But for sure you can’t take him home

Till your best friend has taken a squat.

And the good wife looks on

Which is really a con

As she never,

No never ever,

Takes him out.

But after all the gone by years

It’s true you love him to tears

Because that’s what having a dog’s

All about