Instead of a Silver Spoon

The cat in the cradle
stole my tongue,
and I’ve been silent
ever since.

“Don’t let go of those tears,”
he said, with a grin. “And be wary
of laughing too much.”

So I learned to tuck
myself in close, keep
everything under wraps—
and what a team we were,
the cat and I!

But what the feline failed
to say, let alone know, is that
the more you hold onto, the more
there is to drop.

And oh, the hissing! When that
basket finally hits the ground.

Next thing you know, I’m flattened.
Scratching and clawing for correction.
“Decorum! Order! We must—ahem—
We must maintain control!”

‘Til I spy red lines running
from my own curled up claws, now
dripping blood.

Softening
once bristled edges; I long
for the ways of a
gentler, less clutchy animal.

1 Comment

  1. Lori
    Feb 19, 2019

    Wow..

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