OVERHEARD IN A BOX OF CONVERSATION HEARTS
I learned about it from my friend Suzanne. I don’t know how she came to find it out, But dogs’ feet smell like corn chips: yes, it’s true! She said, I shook my head and said she’d snapped And wouldn’t sniff the gamely offered paw Her lazy shit-for-brains old mutt produced. His tongue lolled, long and wet and pink, he lay Paws splayed, flat on his back for all the world To witness his indignity. That night I stumbled home, two pints too full of drink. And in some moon-dark place I found a cur Who slunk and stank, yet offered me his paw Which I accepted, sampling its bouquet. In disbelief I dropped his filthy foot And scraped my palms clean on the dew-damp grass He sat, and panting, seemed to smile and say: “We all do things of which we are ashamed.”
ON LITTLE CAT FEET
Foul beasts, unmetered—Iamb spooked
did pounce! And baleful
Bacchic bit toothsome
Dactyl, just for fun.
Amphibrach did stalk
for long, dark minutes,
‘til out peeked Trochee—
BAM-SMACK-CRASH!! Then quiet.
Anapest stopped, then stirred,
then circled, curled,
paws beneath, sharp claws sheathed
Hearts beat; the jungle cats sleep.
Jessica Mannion escaped from Alaska and now lives in the wilds of Brooklyn, NY with two cats, one husband, lots of books, and a keyboard. She isn't really sure what she's doing, but she does prefer the Oxford Comma.