The Roaches
We relax under the cabinet
Eating the leftover cheese
Contemplating the meaning of life
And wondering if there is any bread
That we can pair
With this sharp cheddar.
We are happy
At the moment.
The humans are away
And they left
Without so much as sweeping
The kitchen floor.
You perk up,
Dropping your crumb
On the wooden ground
I ask what happened
But you are already darting across
The kitchen.
Then I see what you see.
You have found
a grape.
The Appreciation of Pigeons
All they see you as
Is some type of pest —
Bothersome,
Ugly, annoying.
They don’t see
What they should see.
They can’t look past
Your interesting eating habits,
Or the fact that you
Like to flutter and squawk
Very noisily, when some of us
Are trying
To sleep.
Why do they love
Those hummingbirds
Who flutter harder
And louder
Than you?
Why can’t they stop talking
About those hideous parrots
That squawk so loudly
One has to plug
Their ears?
Looking closer
At the fine grey feathers
That gracefully morph
Into deep purples and greens,
Peering into your eyes,
Noticing the perfect oval shape,
The deep orange color
Surrounding a pinprick of black,
One could really only describe you
As magnificent.
Your Greatest Fan, Jemima.
My dearest Una,
Hear me now.
You think wrong of me,
And I can tell,
For I caught you
Standing on your stoop
Spraying vast quantities of bug repellent
Over every surface
Of your body.
If I could bite you
Without making those itchy bumps
Pop up all over your skin,
I would gladly do so.
But I can’t, unfortunately.
I see you trying to get rid of me
And my friends
But I feel it necessary to put it out there
That your struggles are pointless.
I’m sorry, I really am,
But I love you
Too much
To let the foul scent
Of that horrid stuff
Stand between
You and me.
I would die for you gladly,
Is one thing that you appear to have overlooked.
If my last sensation
Was a little bit
Of your freshly sucked blood
I would die a happy girl.
So put on all the bug spray you want,
Go for it,
Try to get rid of me,
But both you and I
Know that our love
Was written
In the stars.
Your greatest fan,
Jemima.
How We Can Improve My Current Situation
Underfed,
Underslept,
And hopeless.
Nothing can fix
This wretched situation.
I lean back against a piece of tinfoil
That was dropped on the ground,
And then it hits me.
I have finally thought
Of a solution.
For starters, a lot of pizza. Yes. More pizza!
Dripping cheese, warm and delicious.
Next, a nicer place to live.
How about the corner of a restaurant
(preferably an Italian place)?
Yes, that would be perfect.
Then, when the owners dropped food,
I could feast like a king! My stomach rumbles
At the very thought.
OOH! Also, I’d like to get myself
Another rat, for company.
You know, that’s all that I really need.
Scrap the pizza,
Scrap the home.
All I want
Is a friend.
My Favorite Snacks
The sweater your grandma wore
To her first day of high school
Is near the top of the list for sure.
The dye has mostly faded,
Giving it a more bland flavor,
But the soft texture makes up for any faults.
The knitted hat that your aunt wore
For the skiing trip she took
In the seventh grade.
Purple cashmere,
Smooth, magnificent.
The taste of snow still lingers
On its surface.
The rainbow scarf,
Disfigured and full of loose ends,
Your first knitting project.
The wool is scratchy, and it is already falling apart
Even though us moths have not yet
Filled it with our own holes.
Despite this, the nostalgia I feel
When nibbling on its colorful folds
Is immense, so I love it still.