January 20, 2009
you roar and I roar–
you gather your small penguin, tiny train conductor, your hot wheels track &
kitty so soft (it’s played roles¬–
from the pet you never had, to now: prey for me to devour¬)
all served to me on a box top, awaiting my ferocious consumption.
I chew the cat. Lick my chops.
Work my way down the bony limbs.
But the penguin, just a lump of meat then gone, barely satisfies.
The track, all bendy and plastic, is perfect for picking my teeth.
I draw the line at the conductor.
I don’t eat people.
Except for in my dreams, where I can go from whisper level protest,
to Shouting! and No! and then wake up all the better.
Never mind that.
Here I am, here for you:
Plaything, Prop, Stuntmaker.
You swallow me whole and leave me wanting.
Later, I gather little people, socks, & cups,
returning each to its place,
(shelves, baskets, corners that I can ignore)
all the while hoping
to find mine.