This is the third installation of book ends'
National Poetry Month poetry blitz! Read about it here.

Found
by Ron Koertge
[Appeared in Iodine Poetry Journal, reprinted in Best American Poetry 2006]
My wife waits for a caterpillar
to crawl onto her palm so she
can carry it out of the street
and into the green subdivision
of a tree.
Yesterday she coaxed a spider
into a juicier corner. The day
before she hazed a snail
in a half circle so he wouldn't
have to crawl all the way
around the world and be 2,000
years late for dinner.
I want her to hurry up and pay
attention to me or go where I
want to go until I remember
the night she found me wet
and limping, felt for a collar
and tags, then put me in
the truck where it was warm.
Without her, I wouldn't
be standing here in these
snazzy alligator shoes.
Photo: weheartit

2 comments:
:) love it.
I really like this poem!
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