The Fool Thing Curls Its Tail
2009 January 13
The Fool Thing Curls Its Tail
The poem is an attention-starved pet
that races to the door to greet you
after a day spent muttering
with shadows elbow deep
in someone else’s forced march
of language.
You’d pat it on the head, go in
take a piss, grab something cold
out of the refrigerator, remove
shoes and socks – stand
in front of the kitchen window
with a vacant stare
as it waits patiently.
Then, as you finally muster
the energy to sit down, the fool
thing curls its tail
around your ankle,
purring
one or two rough-tongued licks
away from this bowl
of light: its stray eyes lost
for words
