She despairs of my agility
and speaks to me a monotone
as free of stress as ash or
catnip, the authentic artifice
of patience learned by example,
tested by experience,
rewards me with hypocrisy
as though I were a cat.
Come sit with me
let’s talk this nothing
into naked words
which sound near human.
The climbdown from a
musty bookcase onto shoulders
bright with mamselle’s fury,
her purr to dub my own,
demanding of me such small
things as sweetness,
destruction’s curb and this:
be good, be fat, be still.