The Geezer * Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It is always that old geezer who will beat me to the park,
whether 6 AM or 5 it matters not,
even darkness won't dissuade him (well, I whistle in the dark)
and he says he ventures out before it's hot.
But I know what drives the fellow, as his mutt lays down ist turds
it is privacy he needs from prying eyes,
and the geezer looks to heaven, in pretense of watching birds
while the fragrance has awakened sleepy flies.
I would yell in indignation, you must clean that smelly mess
but he pointed to his fancy hearing aid,
would a fine be a deterrent (I was tempted, I confess)
then it came to me, why change is ever made.
So I took my little shovel and I scooped it in the bag
right in front of his astonished drooping eyes,
fighting off indisposition and an urgency to gag
when the gods bestowed a terrible surprise.
As I cleaned and raked the ground my little critter had stood still
and the geezer smiled his early morning smile,
it is often that disaster waits to strike you as it will
well the geezer did the job in royal style.