The Soap Thief
It’s not by the bathtub or shower.
I check on the counter, but, nope!
I scowl at my dog with a glower:
That mongrel keeps eating the soap.
I’m baffled by leftover leavings
of bars that are partially chewed.
Completely confused his thievings:
They smell more like flowers than food.
I’ve struggled to keep him from sneaking
the last little sliver I’ve got.
His breath lacks its typical reeking,
but meanwhile, my body does not.
I groan for there’s zero mistaking
the soap has been stolen again!
And what will be left of his taking?
A guilty and bubbling grin.
Thursdays are dog days!