MICHAEL DENNIS MOONEY -- new writings

The sodden paper is in the bin.
The circulars, bills, and mail are in.
The geraniums are draining
After watercan-made raining.
The kitten's pretty sitting
By a bowl of gravied chicken.
Messages toll on the phone.
The house lion placidly chews his bone.
Then he brings his tennis ball
And foots it with an agile paw.
He gets no soccer play from me.
He slinks away to the worn settee.
The lizards' lamp is hotly lit,
They hunt down crickets under it.
The cockateil gives out a squeal
That would make your blood congeal.
I then anticipate her needs,
Pouring out a cup of seeds.
The fish are silently swallowing kelp,
I am only here to help.

Can't tell if your e-mail's clogged.
I'd need a password to have, um, on-logged.
Okay, I figured it was artist;
Prefixing it with feckless, that was hardest!
So, in reality, you have messages, three
From the big, bad bank, this one from me:
Check your refrigerator, please.
You're now out of beer and cheese.