Mad Dangles

Dripping with perspiration, the birds chirped loudly.
I had toiled in the morning sun for hours.
I stood smug amid wren sass saturated, proudly
basking leaning upon my rake, assured of my powers.

Satisfied with my good work, the telephone rang.
I re-positioned the red wheelbarrow on the walkway,
then dashed inside but it was too late.  Uttering, “Dang!”
all my thoughts were focused on a wheelbarrow that day.

Having caller ID, the hutch drawer was open slightly.
I pushed it shut and then eyed a record of the call.
Wishing I could call, the message seemed to taunt me.
I noticed my better half, arms folded, standing in the hall.

“O you’re not going to do this again!” she cried, red-faced.
Nonplussed and shamed, the doorbell went ding-dong.
Writing down the number, my wife was apace
but I overtook her in the living room before too long.


16 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
June 5, 2014

Requirements:
--dripping
--smug
--drawer
--record

There are 7 dangling participles in this poem.
Send me a list of all 7 and I’ll send you 700 gift points.