Paws thunder across the
kitchen floor--my ears sensitive
from last night’s pub crawl.
Watches me with dainty
feline eyelashes. A pounding head
hard for her to understand
the way I feel. Late with breakfast
I apologize with hurried preparation
she’s staring. Can’t make up her
mind to wait or hurry outside.
Deciding on the latter an agitated
“Meoww” opens the door.
© Richard L. Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/
Comments
skinner_jennifer | April 16, 2011 - 16:01
It's always difficult when you have a hangover, every
thing seems to grate on you.
I really enjoyed this poem.
Jenny.