Flesh, mutt, roasting on a open fire. . .
bad dog ripping off your nose.
You’ll-sight barrel sends a slug; Fid’ expires—
BLAM! Croaked that pup.
Live, then death throes.

Peppered body’s boned, defurred, and cleaned of gristle, so
swell will be each seasoned bite.
Pyre is hot; the canine starts to glow.
In time we’ll dine on meat delight.

This ain’t no sandwich on the way.
A drink of grog enjoyed before Fido filet.
If you’re an oenophile, a red that’s dry
you’ll see, will pair here,
so let’s toast: mud in eye.

And so I’m offering this kitchen praise
to Kim, who done this dog au jus.
Although Fido’s dead, many dines many days—
there’s leftovers to chew.