| Poem
on
Sugar
Paper Oh whirling dervish, creature of extremes! Will you stay still enough for me… oh dogule, mad leaper-up, can’t you tell your oscul- ation’s unappreciated? Your genes (get DOWN!) are pure leaf-brown spaniel, which means sheer delight as I smooth each silken floccule and stroke your forehead’s dome (please, not a globule of warm lick, NO!) but your half-human memes confuse us both. If only I could dive into these dark pools, your eyes, that reveal none of your thoughts, although you’re so alive... and quiet at last, curled in some ancient spell, sharp teeth and tasselled ears primed to receive this poem, token of love and your next meal. Fiona Moore |
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