Kitten in a Sack

It’s the lease. And loneliness.

Sometimes when BoneEyes has got me in a tizzy
and vodka’s got 6’9”,
he likes to taunt me about my friends.
He says that they like him more than me, that they hate
my crazy, they’re planning interventions, plotting.
It’s lies but I still breathe fast and believe him.

He travelled here from Virginia.
I introduced him to them. Seemed appropriate.

Apparently the Badlands were beautiful.

But, when he goes out with his friends? Uninvited.
I ask why not four instead of three?
He says they are exclusively his friends.
That he’d never want to share or introduce me.

But I shared. I shared so much. Even frozen pizzas.

Sexton said life was a kitten in a sack.
I like that.
The ambiguity of it all.
Is the kitten playing about, jumping, rushing
in and out of the sack, finding its way?
Or is it a dead ball of fuzz, broken against the ground,
and ready to be tossed in the nearest dumpster or river?
Considering Sexton, I’d wager the later.

Halloween is coming and I’m going as The Butcher.
Don’t ask.

Feeling trapped by a shadow man or a lease on love is equally stifling.
A baboon on the chest that must go.

Here are the three words that resonate most with me amidst it all:
Myself myself confound.
*Courtesy of Richard III

I’m a kitten wondering if the wolves love me.

Wolves hold your legs back and tell you you like it.

C Yoder enjoys clever wordplay and the use of words to create deeper meanings. Poetry should capture the human spirit both in its aesthetic essence but also in the clever, human ability to structure and see the cracks/inequalities in that structure. They’ve been published in Chapman University’s Calliope (placing 1st place for fiction in 2003), UW’s Bricolage, Navigational Tangents, and various other online publications. Other hobbies include: growing tomatoes, writing a cookbook, and travel.

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