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Poems by 'Art of Seeing' Columnist, Michael Milton

FERAL by Michael Milton I'm hesitant to confess I ordered her front claws extracted, and shortly thereafter (with less conscience,) her uterus, too.

FERAL

by Michael Milton

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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.

NEVER PICKED

By Michael Milton

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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.

Finally, intemperately,

necessarily dropping,

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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