{"id":130965,"date":"2023-09-02T13:58:25","date_gmt":"2023-09-02T17:58:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=130965"},"modified":"2023-09-02T13:58:25","modified_gmt":"2023-09-02T17:58:25","slug":"the-dog-did-it","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2023\/09\/the-dog-did-it\/","title":{"rendered":"The Dog Did It"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Indian takeout intended for lunch is missing from the fridge.<\/span><\/p>\n

The son, reclining satiated on the sofa with fingers stained red,
\nsays he didn\u2019t eat it. He owes his satisfaction to Doritos.
\nTell him that you know that it was him even if you\u2019re not sure.
\nLingering disgrace builds character.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The youngest daughter, lips the color of paan, storms by smelling of spices and states that
\nThough she didn\u2019t eat it, she wishes she had
\nbecause you are a horrible mother
\nand deserve every calamity that befalls you.
\nTrip her for her insolence.<\/p>\n

The eldest daughter, washing an oily bowl, is a known nibbler.
\nHer recent conversion to veganism means your chicken vindaloo should have been safe, but she\u2019s a backslider by nature.
\nSmell her breath. Suspiciously minty.<\/p>\n

The husband is chewing something quietly in the corner.
\nHe would admit taking it if he had because he\u2019s brazen and reckless.
\nSimply roll your eyes at this formidable opponent.
\nLet him know that if it was him, Hell itself will open her mouth to rain fire on his head.<\/p>\n

Make a beautiful turkey sandwich instead.
\nMake sure that it\u2019s envy inducing.
\nUse the last of the spicy salsalito turkey (everyone\u2019s favorite), but withhold one slice from your masterpiece.
\nPlace the meat on sweet Hawaiian bread.
\nBlanket it in provolone, artistically arrange the avocado, make money green lettuce and tangy garden tomato slices rain on that thing, and smear the aioli like you\u2019re Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
\nAnd as you saunter outside to eat on the porch
\nPassing the drooling ingrates that you call family,
\nshare a piece of the meat with the dog, the only friend
\nyou have in this den of thieves.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Indian takeout intended for lunch is missing from the fridge. The son, reclining satiated on the sofa with fingers stained red, says he didn\u2019t eat it. He owes his satisfaction to Doritos. Tell him that you know that it was him even if you\u2019re…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4411,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-130965","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130965","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4411"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=130965"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130965\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":131360,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/130965\/revisions\/131360"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=130965"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=130965"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=130965"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}