Thursday, April 8, 2010

Hudson by Holly Day

The lawnmower makes me wish
I was an animal, some four-footed hoofed thing
that lived on flowers and tree bark.
Its noise makes me run and
hide in my room.
These clothes make me wish
I was pure beast, a sleeked-furred carnivore
that gave birth in a den,
fed carrion to my children.
These clothes make me ugly and
keep me meek.
This bed makes me wish
I was alone, or something with claws,
that I had my own scent, and not that of the man
that lumbers in here at night
and says that I'm his.

1 comment:

Bukowski's Basement said...

Nice one, Craig... I dig the feeling up isolation in this.