The fog comes
on little cat feet.
(Carl Sandberg)
Clearly Carl Sandberg never lay
prostrate in bed staving off daylight
until a hungry cat cannonballed
his unprotected stomach like a sudden avalanche.
Obviously Carl Sandberg never dragged
the covers over his head, only to suffer
forty careful, cubic pounds per square paw
flattening every cyst and sore chest muscle
creaking each rib and collapsing each lung
to crush him slowly, grindingly awake.
3 comments:
so true. And, my cat weights 18.8 pounds! Sometimes, I think he's going to crack my sternum.
I love how surprising the word "awake" is, how it comes after such excessive adjectives.
Delightful. Thanks.
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