Big Job

I know a lot about you.
You eat corn dogs off the floor.
You lick greasy butter from the
dishes after dinner.
Your soft fur falls loosely
around your short beach-waddle
legs. Your purpose in life:
to keep this household entertained,
never seems trivial to me.
You do a better job of that
than I can do. I don’t
know enough about you to do
what you do, and long ago
I was stripped of all my fur.

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