So there's a new kid in the classroom
and the other kids all stare
as he comes and sits right next to me
"Why's he sitting there?"
He's not your average schoolboy
he has the darkest stare
that threatens all who see it
thundering through his messed up hair.
He glares at all the others
as his choice they mock with glee
the pretty ones all clucking
as to why he would choose me.
But here he sits, unmoving
solid stone with stormy eyes
while I control my longing
for his hand upon my thigh.
He really is quite dreamy
in his own peculiar way
so I'm scribbling in my notebook
trying to find words to say.
Now he's staring at my notebook
I'm exposed, I want to die
as he reads these words I'm writing
and puts his hand upon my thigh!!!

Hurrying to my work in the untimely shower
Caught my ears the mews but it was rush hour
Must be another kitten born with no luck
Abandoned in the shrub dying on sidewalk!

The day soon rubbed off the mews from my mind
Till my feet trudged home leaving the drudge behind
Once upon that sidewalk in twilight’s grayish hues
I heard it from neath of grass pain’s plaintive mews!

Must be an angel possessed me I did find it out
Picked up took home put warm milk into its mouth
My lady unpleased said our hands are already full
Here you bring another like you isn’t another fool!

But she was the first one to make it a cosy bed
She was the one worrying how it to be properly fed
Yet filled the air its agony’s mews all day and night
She said your taking it here wasn’t all that right!

Its ma must have left the baby in the bush safely hiding
Picking up and taking it home was quite a wrong thing
She must be now crying wild searching everywhere
The baby wouldn’t stop crying till getting back mother!

So the cute kitten I placed back in the hideout on sidewalk
With the prayer it gets back ma wishing it good luck
Leaving it with heavy heart I walked away for day’s work
Sighed the silent sidewalk on my way home after dark!

Yesterday was,
today is,
tomorrow has yet
to be.

Time itself;
a unit of measurement
for our own failing bodies.

Counting machines
with hands and faces;
"tick-tock" insist the clocks.

Smiling on me
from atop the wall,
numbers serve as chopping blocks.