🌭The Attack of the Flying Hotdogs
Goose sat back upon the couch, Just chilling out, relaxing slouch. A peaceful day, no stress in sight Then hotdogs took a sudden flight. From left to right they flew in fast, A sausage storm that couldn't last. They slapped his cheeks, they hit his nose, One tried to sneak inside his clothes. A hotdog smacked him on the chin, Another tried to tuck right in. They bounced and twirled through open air Like meat missiles without a care. “Oh mercy me!” poor Goose did cry, As bratwursts started flying by. “What wizard cooked this sausage spell?!” He shouted from his couch of hell. The world stood still… the room went quiet… No one prepared him for this diet. For when the hotdogs start to rain, No couch on earth can ease the pain. So heed this warning, near and far Beware the airborne wiener war. For when the sausages take flight… Your snack attack may bite back tonight. By Jason Strickland The Art of Poetry Community