by Michael Milton
I’m hesitant to confess
I ordered her front claws extracted,
and shortly thereafter
(with less conscience,)
her uterus, too.
No wonder she was such a good youngster,
that mote of hair
armed only with her charm,
afraid what might be taken from her next.
Her kittenish wiles secured her
this much larger 2 bedroom cage,
and a place at the table where another survivor dined,
both of us making the best
of our domesticated lives.
By Michael Milton
The prettiest ones most always
get picked first, have you noticed?
Greedy hands plucked them
from low hanging branches.
Those apples of impatient eyes
are still short their full quota of sweetness,
something discovered, sadly, after only one bite.
Later, in the final days of the season,
I have caught glimpse of the ones ignored, hidden,
except when breezes momentarily
part leafy curtains protecting their lofty garrets.
Oh, they have lived, these high placed, claret red voluptuaries!
They are tipsy on sweet wisdom,
any early bitterness now all but forgotten.
surrendering absolutely to a single, giddy Newtonian moment.
These great ladies land, bleary eyed, on the grass
in the shade of their ancestral home.
They already are bursting with drunken joy,
glad to join all that came before,
and satisfied to be a part of all that will come later.
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