April 8

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general. Maybe something related to taking out the trash each week or washing the dishes every night--or something more bizarre (yet still a routine).

Every day it's the same
I think the dogs are to blame
They start to whine
At the door they pine
That is their claim to fame

My oatmeal they must share
To be selfish I would not dare
They stare and whine
At my feet they pine
Then they lick the plates bare.

They lay around all day on the floor
And only get up to go out the door
Their needs are met just fine
They have no need to whine,
I doubt they could ask for more.

My life by them it is controlled - I can't sleep late
Up at 7:15 - it is my fate
For some freedom and rest some time that is mine
I would enjoy before I am in a box of pine
But I must their needs serve - just great.

Each night it is in and out
The treats they want - no doubt
I do what they ask and walk the line
And really I like it just fine
Serving the dogs is what it is all about.