9 to 5

I am being domesticated
Chewing cud in a frosted glass stall
Monday I came in wild
Pawed my black-laced boots against
the linoleum
Said crap a couple times in passing conversation
And stole a pen
The herd, soft fleshed, tender, dull
red-rimmed eyes
Smelt something foreign, and near spooked
(thankfully, sipping tranquilizers, no movement
I brought a mug from home today
To fill with the rest
Three cats, red violence
Chained to one another, teeth clamped in tail
Celtic, you see
Nice viciousness
(my wild pride, shyly smiling,
Nostrils a-flutter, I sip
Grit my teeth
And fatten

Questions and Answers

What did you find particularly challenging in writing this poem?

This poem was hard to harness. It started loud, ended quiet. I tried shoe-horning flashier lines to cap the thing off, but they all felt very wrong. Most involved the narrator making a daring escape, bursting through a third story window to wild pastures beyond, but they didn’t fit at all with what I was feeling. Eventually I realized it was appropriate, in this case, for it to trail into a mumble, the domestication complete. My unconscious knew it all along.

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