day SEVEN HUNDRED and EIGHTY ONE

...You get fleas_

Hot summer days in your upstairs apartment

We would pull off our clothes,

Like Daisy's picked of their petals,

Throw them on the floor,

Jump into that big bed

And make that mattress soar.

One month later

There are no more petal picking days.

There are no more fanciful flights.

There are only fleas

That hitched a ride on my recklessly thrown panties,

Eating my cat, who is highly allergic,

Alive.

I remember a saying

And learn again

Clichés happen for a reason.

_If you lay with dogs...

--Jeri Thompson