On to Other Things

I don't know if anyone will still read this, now that I am no longer chronicling European adventures. But, I am going to continue to write none the less. And that is that.

I'm spending some of my time this summer working at the BlueDog Coffeehouse. However, my hours are very few at the moment, while I'm still trying to get back into the swing of things and go through all the necessary training. So, I have been spending a lot of my free time writing and editing and maybe, eventually submitting things for publication. A scary thought, indeed. But, I thought it might be a good idea to put some of my stuff up here, and if anyone wants to critique it that would be great. If not, whatever.

Here's a poem. It's anti-cat. So, if you are pro-cat, be forewarned. I don't like cats.

Felinophobia

The whole shebang remains the cat’s damn fault.

Black scraggly beast from down the block, that rogue.

That foolish feline got what he deserved.

At my peaceful window earlier that night,

my hands were wrinkled, wet like paper in rain,

my fingers soapy, slippery, when that brute

appeared and snarled at me, its whiskers wet

from stolen milk. The glass squirmed out of my hand

and fell with a piercing cry, its pieces leapt

about my kitchen floor. With deepening

frustration, I bent, retrieving shards, so sharp

they bit my palms with itchy stings. My skin

was nicked. I didn’t deserve those crimson stains.

So I gave those pestering cuts to the cat

as well. I pitched the glass at his midnight fur.

His mews began to sizzle, boiling like

cold water on a heated pot. I glanced outside

to see my annoyance die upon the lawn.