A Cat's Life is Deceiving
The boy who wished to be a cat
because they seemed so lazy,
quickly wished he’d wished instead
for yoga classes
or any preparatory stretching
that would ready him
for that feline need to mime
mythology’s circling ouroboros,
his tongue, sandpaper pink.
He wished he’d wished instead
to be a bird, or even a goldfish.
Neither of those would leave him
scratching at invisible itches
hosting Olympics on his nape.
Most of all, he wished
he’d wished instead to have no wish,
staying spoon-deep in his Cheerios
between two sleeping temptations.
He would have wished his way back
to couch and Star Wars pajamas,
but his voice kept getting lost
in the hygiene clogging his throat.