Monday, March 11, 2019

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
Clich├ęs happen for a reason.

_If you lay with dogs...

--Jeri Thompson

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