Soul Captors

Soul  Captors  

I have no place for birthday cards.

Sentiments became folly

scattered on the floor.

There are no flowers in my vase, [pronounced VOZ]

for they do not permit  it.

They insinuated themselves into my home

only to treat it with complete disregard.

What motives lie in ambush

beneath calm and sleepy exteriors?

Others are shocked

by the chaos they wrought.

They speak Fursee

and move with the shadows.

I no longer admire the beauty of

a Mexican bowl.

It is locked away for the eyes of no one.

There is no place for toilet paper.

It is shredded into clouds at my feet

And I must resign myself to Kleenex,

which is a brand name like Xerox. 

They do not believe in wine, fine or otherwise.

So they knock the glass from my hand

splattering the walls.

They mock me. They sit on my muse.

They want their demands met

or else.

I have no place for Christmas cards.

The Fursee rings in my ears

as they careen

through my sanctuary, ricocheting off walls

like little   hairy   bullets.

They make love on my bed

and force me to watch.

My jewelry is not safe.

They have a crow’s fascination

for shiny things.

They steal it … hoard it,

exchange it for catnip

in dark alleys. 

They intercept my packages

destroying the contents,

requisitioning the boxes for hideouts.

The big one stares into my eyes

demanding I stroke his long, stipe-ed  arms.

The little one, in training, more cautious

as she tentatively taps my face

and drools on the pillowcase.

She wears all black.

They belong to the same faction.

My house is under siege.

Nothing is safe.

I have cats.