That big blue thing she calls a duffel

and into it, she stuffs and stuffles

is still upon the luggage rack

even though she just came back.

It’s presence in my old dog space

disturbs the peace

It’s out of place

When I forget that it’s still there

It startles me and makes me swear

And even though it’s empty now

It still brings sweat to my old dog brow

to imagine what it is conveying

Is she going or is she staying?

I really miss her when she’s gone

But not the duffel

It’s satan’s spawn.

I wish that she would put away

That big scary thing in an old dogs way.

This message I’m sending without kerfluffle

Please move that thing or I’ll poop in your

duffel.