(Poem 159 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)
No one got the memo to
Beauty that brushing is a
necessity for maintaining
her silky, fluffy, calico coat.
She thinks my attacks with
the evil brush and comb are
horrific assaults on both her
privacy and hope of survival.
If it were up to her, Beauty’s
jewelry would consist of
burs and spear grass, with
mats of hair and caked mud.
She would rather nap and
complain about her only three
quarters full food bowl than
comply with any grooming.
@Home Studio – 159th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Beauty Pain photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 