Photo by Cihat Dede (Pexels)
‘Cat Ass Trophy,’ ‘On a Date,’ ‘The Last Morning’ and ‘In the Closet’
Adeline Lyons
CAT ASS TROPHY
The feline rump
scaled the highest hump
and won the medal
of premium pomp
No, wait—
The proper pussy
was in a hussy
after settling the big tushy
controversy
Or, was it—
The chaotic kitten
was instantly smitten
with the butt of a smoke
and took up dope
Forget it…
ON A DATE
picture perfect please
he said across the table.
are you able to enable
me to touch you finally?
I’ve waited all night.
your smiles cut, said he
who paid the bill. your voice
too shrill. would you mind
sealing those lips and
shooting me a kiss?
the tablecloth seemed friendlier
than anyone I’d known:
blue and white checkers
crossed like waves
on the beach I roamed alone.
THE LAST MORNING
I did not pick the flowers for you.
I did not pluck their heads for you
and certainly did not strew them around the room
to pleasure you.
It was early and I couldn’t sleep.
I needed something new to look at
so I went to the yard and culled a bounty
of lilacs peonies lavender
some of them yours, I know,
and went to the kitchen for the scissors.
I left the stems in the sink for you to remove.
Certainly their stalky green is enough beauty
for you. Certainly enough
mess for you to undo. As for the flowerheads
in the living room: a broom will do.
In the meantime I’ll follow you in my mind,
at your heels as the days ensue;
I’ll keep my eyes on the image
of you, which hangs impressionistic
in the inmost cavern of my skull:
dainty, decorative, flowerless.
IN THE CLOSET
When picking out the pants appropriate
for the occasion of a new day, I usually
consult my almanac of “potentials”
which I keep under my pillow.
It consists of two lists.
One, the impending gloom
outside my door which manifests
in hoards of mayflies or flattened tires
or sticky steering wheels or inappropriate
glances or well-tempered reactions
to things that deserved an outcry.
Two, the dazzling encounter I will
inevitably have at the corner of my street
when waiting to cross and seeing
you, my one-and-only-non-existent-true-
love standing there and on the crosswalk
staying there for days and days.
The pants I choose have everything to do
with the list that jumps at me that morning.
And that is why, for all who keep asking,
I cannot hang tonight because good sleep
might help me choose the second list
and wear long leather bell-bottoms
tomorrow.
Adeline Lyons is an emerging poet and writer from the Hudson Valley region of New York. She is a full-time student in the English program at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. When she is not writing, you will likely find her playing the cello or guitar, painting, reading, or conversing with the lovely humans with whom she shares time and space.