Dear Human - Genevieve Tucker

Perhaps you didn’t know that It truly

bugs me when I am not constantly

being rubbed. Your long white claw things

brushing through my silky black fur.

While my tail, with a mind of its own

whips back and forth like a metronome

keeping its own time, keeping its own rhythm.

Perhaps you didn’t know that

I am sad and a bit scared when

you leave me. The big brick box

we live in is alive when you’re gone.

The floorboards stretching and cracking,

or the huge sighs of warm air that

gush from the small metal

holes in the ceiling.

Perhaps you didn’t know that

the vibrations and growls that come from

your chest at night are always waking me up.

So, I walk in circles around the bar to tire myself out

like the sheep you’re always counting

in your sleep, I count my cycles around

and around and around.