by Harry

I drew a cat for him,
at least that’s
what I thought.
He looked at me,
suspicious eyes
full of knowing,
wry smile.

Was I serious?
Yes, I was,
but two year olds
are smart.
“That’s not a cat”, he said,
“it’s a pig”.
He belly-laughed,
snuggled his tiny frame
against my eager warmth;
a moment shared,
intimate trust,

I’m glad it looked like a pig.

One Comment to “Catpig”

  1. Hi Celeste, you have three poems in drafts are they drafts/trash or are they for posting.

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