Shadow, you *******
bead box upended,
a galaxy of beads beckon feline eye;
you’d choke in your bliss
for cheap plastic pieces.
Your toys remain unchewed, dusty;
my pens remain missing, useless.
Four a.m. is for sleeping, not eating;
I slam the door,
no longer listening;
your crying piercing my brain,
deep as the bead nestled in your throat;
They’re never the same again
once the damage sets in;
the special diet,
medication tucked in cheese;
hairballs requiring the kittie-Heimlich,
like squeezing a black, furry accordion;
and then it is I who cries
for forgiveness.
Apr 22, 2010
Apr 22, 2010 at 5:17 PM UTC
Shadow, you *******
bead box upended,
a galaxy of beads beckon feline eye;
you’d choke in your bliss
for cheap plastic pieces.
Your toys remain unchewed, dusty;
my pens remain missing, useless.
Four a.m. is for sleeping, not eating;
I slam the door,
no longer listening;
your crying piercing my brain,
deep as the bead nestled in your throat;
They’re never the same again
once the damage sets in;
the special diet,
medication tucked in cheese;
hairballs requiring the kittie-Heimlich,
like squeezing a black, furry accordion;
and then it is I who cries
for forgiveness.
Published in Cardinal Sins, Winter 2010.
Request permission to use this poem