Harshness for Harshwords & 4 Stomps Away from A Yardbird's Drowning in that Sky's View 'Cause o' the Moonroof

I Ain't Just Gonna Bark  
I Ain't Just Gonna Barf  
All Is Not  
that junkyard dog that I have been  
called out to be mean as a mother  
When That Killer's fuhgastata drops  
Is all YOU saw that last Straw?  
Was I really the bad guy?  
I'm pretty sure I stopped the fried head of a pigeon  
from RUINnin'  
at least one dog's hot footed chicken  
some birds are for fryin'  
some birds are for flyin'  
Why YOU gotta crank the heat so high  
'round that one yardbird's dancin' rite  
 
Could YOU let this baby come out the trash can and chill?  
if I CAN'T get a Shower  
quickly quickly  
my nickname's still Turtle  
droppin' ill games  
as I tip toe 'round some o' them hurdles  
don't make me back track to get with protectin'  
what you think is a piece of trash's back  
Don't make me hark upon them days  
When this junkyard dog kept  
that  
FIRE ENGINE  
safe  
 
 Don't make me lose face  
Who won't be a Mean Mother?  
because I know there's them old Rhode Island  
Roads built by that part of mankind  
Some of them still havin' babies  
that are havin'  
Great Grand Babies  
Doin' anything better an'  
historically sometimes  
Doin' that road builder's job better twice  
and These Days  
if a girl can only sing  
songs  
tryin' to warn about  
an impassable bout  
I'll fight for the right to sing  
so a female won't get frost bitten in the freezin' rain  
Maybe I'll kill a swingin' Dick  
Whilst it's after he gives those hind quarters he thought he owned a kick  
If I kill him just  
for that  
man it wasssssssan accident  
 
 pumpin that fist a little too much downward  
just like this flip of a burner's switch still exists  
an' with that ol' black magic that I hear boOm so farewell  
I'll not even run from that yardbird  
yet for this junkyard dog  
at least the truth will maybe come out  
an' if it doesn't  
an' that burner's switch gets flipped on me  
baby this greasy li'l junkyard dog's  
'onna flee  
greasin' the sky every third lunge  
makin' it rain  
"Man this Turtle ain't that mean!"  
yeah I yelled it  
If I can escape with greased palms  
instead of rainin' blood  
You can bet I'm 'onna be kind hearted tomorrow  
pretendin' to fly by  
not like a nice cake boarin' slug  
I'm usually not circlin' round more than twice  
I've never owned a yardbird myself  
an' man it's that Brute side o' man  
that's known more to take that chicken  
an' call it his elf  
burnin' bobbles as if he is the only him that can  
stand the rite of a stance  
then there's that other real chance  
that a way too mean o' a mother  
gives a loyal junkyard dog  
his last taste of a shelf  
 
 Although maybe sometimes  
then an' now  
I can stop the madness  
without so much as a bark  
just that little scowl  
my grandmammie taught me  
to walk away with  
it's up to you to do you  
an' for all of us to do our own thing  
while we  
simply DUCK PISTOL an' exist  
 
Poem and Artwork: M. E. L.