Growls, whimpers, a machine gun ruff!

Why can’t you understand my talk?

If understood, you wouldn’t balk.

My tone may sound a little gruff,

But that’s how I ask for my stuff.

Though I say it as clear as day,

You act like I’ve nothing to say.

Through all of your long-winded rants,

I’ll start chewing holes in your pants.

The things I want are food and play!

Prompted from Ronovan Writes Decima Poetry Challenge Prompt at: