Submitted by Willie Smith
I pick my teeth; the clock ticks.
The cat sits alert on the sill,
glaring through the glass death.
A molar yields a sesame seed.
The tongue slides it between incisors.
The cat’s tail twitches, trembles, puffs.
Front teeth crush the seed;
a hint of sesame opens. Ears back,
the cat drools lust to kill – on the
thistle edging the patio – a finch. Ticks
the clock. The cat aborts
a hiss. Knows just enough
not to leap. The tongue snakes
after further sesame savor,
although I know, snapping the pick,
tossing the splinters on a plate,
no more bits of food in the teeth. The
finch, bill fuzzy with thistle, flits from view.
To the floor the cat hops. Balances on
rear; spreads legs. Falls assiduously
to ass-licking. To prove to the world
nothing, just nothing, just happened.
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