Friday, 6 April 2012

The Brush Off (Day 6)

When I first brushed your cat
she started rolling
all over the chair
like she put had on
way too much sun tan lotion.

She would move left
then right


then a forgetful south

her fangs flashing
friendly as a hand generade,

She would flick
her tail in the air
like a magician
and treat my brush
like a cricket ball.

She would throw me
the most dirty look
that would spell out murder
if I didn't stop,

the most horrific form
of torture

starting world war three


and five

before then totally forgiving me
when I kissed her on the head
once I had finished.

(Day 6 off asked
for a poem about a animal and this animal
is my partner, Katy's cat who I had a war
with on Friday about brushing).

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