He’s a squirrel,
dashing and dithering
here, there, *******
everywhere
At near six feet,
he towers, but
at 120 he’s not
much more than
a cat-tail.
(yet, so very much more)
At the end of the day
he rattles; bits of this
and that in his pockets,
I’m waiting for the day
when he palms a Marlboro
and one of my lighters.
Having a thing for fire,
I know it’ll be soon;
we already hide the
matches.
But, it’ll happen.
Will I make him smoke
a whole pack? Nah.
Where’s the lesson there?
He’s nicotine ****** or puking,
while I’m out a pack of smokes.
It’ll watch him cough, hack, spit;
realizing the error made.
Same one I made,
‘cept I kept at it.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
He’s a squirrel,
dashing and dithering
here, there, *******
everywhere
At near six feet,
he towers, but
at 120 he’s not
much more than
a cat-tail.
(yet, so very much more)
At the end of the day
he rattles; bits of this
and that in his pockets,
I’m waiting for the day
when he palms a Marlboro
and one of my lighters.
Having a thing for fire,
I know it’ll be soon;
we already hide the
matches.
But, it’ll happen.
Will I make him smoke
a whole pack? Nah.
Where’s the lesson there?
He’s nicotine ****** or puking,
while I’m out a pack of smokes.
It’ll watch him cough, hack, spit;
realizing the error made.
Same one I made,
‘cept I kept at it.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
For Christy. (I get it.)
