My Daughter Edits My Poem
The doctor says a domestic tabby is therapeutic.
He runs across counter tops,
pressing four clumsy paws
into cookie dough hearts,
stabbing each one with his claws.
She simultaneously achieves cathartic relief
by proxy (oh darling, I’m sorry,
I made them for YOU)
and cardiac benefit chasing him
with the rolling pin (he needs it, too).
He escapes and, quietly, she, too,
disappears. We find them together,
silent, in the hall closet - him locked
tight in her arms, her blissed out.
She rocks, loving him to death.