Too Much Information

‘A new dog!’ she squeals.
‘A Rottweiler, just what I wanted.’
How can I tell her I loathe
and distrust that breed,
and likely won’t rush
to fondle its ugly muzzle?

I could say, ‘I didn’t like
your last three hounds either,
and look how they turned out,
destructive brutes.’ But I don’t
as I didn’t then — though she’s still
finding bits of those old breakages.

I look again for a form of words
not killjoy, not hypocritical.
She’s happy, and besides
she’s bought the thing now
and wouldn’t give it back on my say-so.
‘Enjoy!’ I say, crossing my fingers.


April PAD Challenge 5
Prompt: write a 'too much information' poem.