There's a guinea pig in my vacuum
I. I hear a squeaking in my vacuum as I push forward in a straight line,
pull backward in a straight line and then a swerve.
push, pull
push, pull, and now I'm lost in this algorithm.
The background music is a purr
cued by two snaps of the finger,
rattling of keys, then the Ka-Ch of the CD box opening and
we're a concerto in some key where purring makes sense.
There he goes dancing around the center table
chasing an imaginary tail
There he goes flying off the carpet into hay haven where
trees are stalks of celery and the carrot people offer gold charms.
II. He used to snuggle up with the carpet and watch me like
he had elbows he could rest on
He used to pull my sock with his teeth then run around as if
to say catch me if you can
III. Funny how a farm fire brought you to a pet store and
I found you all alone in a glass box,
in a back room, because of your unusual size: a runt.
A runt is like a girl who believes in tales of fairies and
talking trees or that colors move between her fingers.
A runt is like a boy who believes in tales of space and
star destroyers, or that flickering light can be a message.
Funny how some swerving on a straight and panoramic path
brought us together.
2007-07-05
22:18:34
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18 answers
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asked by
Carneliana
2
in
Poetry