on my chair
danger lurks in blackness
I know this is temporary. Tick season will end and I’ll stop rationally (or irrationally) imagining ticks crawling up my leg or walking across the back of my neck all the time.
Until then, because I know that the little black buggers hitch rides on my cat, I won’t sit in my chair while she sleeps across the chair back.
Working my way through A Kick in the Head. Today’s poetic form is the Cinquain. I chose to construct my 5 line poem like this: one word, two words, three words, four words, one word
Achoo! Achoo! (Achoo!)
My father sneezes twice.
My husband, on the other hand,
Always sneezes thrice.
(Please don’t sneeze on the baby)
One, Two, Four
Henry’s learning how to count
Though he doesn’t get the numbers right
He understands amount
How many construction vehicles do you have, Henry?
Cat can’t make up her mind
If I try to count the times each day
I’d quickly fall behind
Would you make up your mind already?
Miss Piper has a twinsy
A sort of copy cat
She looks exactly like her
In a different format
Here lies Trinity, a good little cat.
Though she grew old, she never grew fat.
Though she oft shed, she rarely meowed –
The cat we have now is a little too loud.
Shall I compare thee to a midnight sky,
The eve before the new moon starts to wax,
When pinpoint stars gleam faintly from on high
Amidst a multitude of blues and blacks?
Your velvet coat of nighttime’s deepest hue
An inky ebony with gloss and shine —
Your luminescent yellow orbs shine through
Unblinking and unnerving as you dine.
You cross my path and I think not of ill
For though you be a portent of the worst
To me you always have and always will
Be the farthest thing from one accursed
When night’s blackness yields to dawn I endure
Your sweetest attribute: that is, your purr