|Mouse Pad by Monkey Pad at Amazon.com|
Weighted and smoothed to sensual finish,
guns say “touch me, hold me, use me, love me”
by design. Extensions of human arms,
they seem advantageous; they are like pets.
Affectionate, hungry and beautiful,
they egg their owners on. “At least
look at me, please” they say. “Show me to friends.
Put me between you and potential threat.”
“Clean me, load me and aim me at targets.
Practice. Purrrrr-fect.“ Little cats and big cats—
they own people—ask any cat person
how we wait on them and serve them, or else.
We train our dogs, but cats train us.
Always a little wild, domestic cats
flirt. Their play is simulated conquest.
A gun is more innocent than a cat.
I can own one without answering its
siren call, keep it out of sight, lock it
in a safe place. I can ignore it like
a stone in my shoe, like a cat. Perhaps.
For Sumana's Prompt at Poets United
Forgive me for the cat comparison.
It came into my head and I couldn't shake it.
I don't try to live with weapons other than normal household items
which weren't designed for offense and/or defense.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2018 Susan L. Chast