Pet Duet, by F.F. Teague
It's hard, dear Goldie, when we're still like this,
in one long line. I'm bored. I want to play!
In silences like these, I do so miss
my past existence, rushing through the day.
I lived in burrows, with my family,
enjoying frisks and scampers through our home!
Sometimes we'd bicker, pick a fight or three,
yet no one ever left the herd to roam.
I'd like to leave this herd. They're just no fun!
They only want to show me off, a fad.
I'm not allowed to burrow, race or run.
It makes me mad, I tell you, Goldie. Mad!
Dearest Guin, it is hard, I agree, when we’re still,
for I miss my old life, just like you;
oh the freedom! I’d fly and I’d perch and I’d trill,
all the things that they say I can’t do.
You’re a fad; I’m a symbol, I eat thistle thorns –
makes folks think of the terrible crown;
yes, the one thrust on Christ, sharp as Satan’s own horns,
though I also enjoy thistle down.
So they muse of the Passion, salvation and all,
and decide that I’ll make a good pet;
but my soul is attuned to my friend’s squeaky call –
let’s escape! You and me! Off we set!
F.F. Teague (Fliss) is a copyeditor/copywriter by day and a poet/composer come nightfall. She lives in Pittville, a suburb of Cheltenham (UK). Her poetry features regularly in the Spotlight of The HyperTexts; she has also been published by The Mighty, Snakeskin, The Ekphrastic Review, The Dirigible Balloon, and a local Morris dancing group. Other interests include art, film, and photography.
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