Poetry

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Incongruous though it may seem,
There is a pumpkin
Under the tree,
Which sits all bedecked
And tinsel covered

In the center of the
Tie dye curtained room
Of India print spreads
And flowered pillows,
Of orange and green and yellow gold

Through all this colorful
Discordantly interesting explosion
Muffy sleeps.
Possibly she can becausethe scene parallels
Her own existence.

It’s almost as if she wears
The thoughts of her head
In her conglomerant whirlwind coat
Of orange, black, brown and
In-between

Impetuous feline
Racing through the house,
Sliding across the kitchen
Catapulting,
Somersaulting, caterwauling

Only to drop, moments later
Into peaceful upside down oblivion
As she flops-plops asleep,paws in the air,
On the India print couch,
A tightly curled Muffy pumpkin.

(C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved. Use with with proper credits.

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