Smelly Molly

Another poem for my Grandson Tate.  Eventually, I will illustrate all of these.

 

Molly, the bulldog, sleeps under my bed.

The smell of her farts is something I dread.

They’re inky and stinky,  fluffy and foggy.

Why such a stench from my sweet little doggy?

Pea green clouds of Molly rise to the ceiling.

Blow out the window, neighbors start squealing.

What must I do? Feed her perfume?

Plug her up with the stick of a broom?

Looks like tomorrow I have a task.

I’ll walk to the store and buy a gas mask.

 

Here’s the other poem I wrote for baby Tate.  A Poem for my Grandson. “Eating Boogers” by Nana

Now I’m working on one about stinky feet.  This is fun!