Regrettably, an accident.
I’ve vacuumed up your elephant.
Forgive me, dear, my daft intent
to dust her with the implement.
Before I knew it, all of her
was sucked into the canister.
And now I fear the gizmo’s broke.
The back of it is spewing smoke.
It will not roll across the floor −
the thing must weigh a ton or more.
(If I had known how this would play
I’d first have done the passageway.)
The hose is issuing a stink
of mothballs, liniment, and ink.
The red light’s on. All signs confirm
the bag is full of pachyderm.
(If I were slightly less a fool
I’d first have done the vestibule.)
The engine noise is off the scale −
it won’t switch off, the thing will fail!
In any case, I do regret
the passing of your big-eared pet.
(If I had thought to think ahead
I would have walked the dog instead.)
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