Lines made with fridge poetry

The family that always sees calico.
Climb for me.
Quiet is almost more cunning
Who could have the sense
Who could have the grace
Who could know
Drink fish full leap
They ate her cat.

The Family That Always Saw Calico

The family that always saw calico
They ate her cat.
They waited till it’s owner was out
the woman next door,
who didn’t believe in neutering pets
and so who had a pack, a tribe, a troop
a gang, roaming through her house,
they waited till that woman was out
and then, with grins like knives,
cut out curves of juicy melon,
magic markered wicked murders,
rasberry coloured toothy smiles – then
they coaxed the kitty in their house.
And the family that always saw calico,
they really hated cats.
Cats who like to play with calico.
Cats who like to shred with energy –
no respect for thought and planning,
no respect for curtain linings,
cushion covers, table finery –
the family that always saw calico,
they coaxed it through their door
they led it down the hall,
they saw calico.
They ate her cat.

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