My eyes will glow, as I hunt vermin,
beat out rhythms on the hardwood,
distract myself from the hurt
of absence, of emptiness.
Thorny-pawed, scratched up,
bleeding and bruised,
taken a licking, keeping on ticking,
unsure–to what I’m counting down.
Eventually I wear out.
Eventually I curl up on myself,
and fall asleep waiting for the hovering stroke
of gentle hand–of a gentleman.