Not sure why Dad says I’m bizarre;

Maybe it’s positions I sleep?

I’ll also lose it when you sweep.

When we’re walking and see a car,

My legs don’t move as if in tar.

Curious of all that’s around,

Tasting everything on the ground,

Snuggled into your deepest groove;

Then, Dad complains he cannot move.

Each day I amaze and astound.

Prompted from Ronovan Writes Decima Poetry Challenge Prompt at: