There was a hole underneath the sink.
Created by a general laborer’s lazy hand,
That gave up drywall patches,
For cigarettes and to maintain
The welfare of his addictions. He’d later give-up
His opposable thumbs
To a recycling plant. That echoed the filth
Liberals intended to save.
And a Calico
Wandered by the hole,
And was impacted by the void’s potential
To be filled with anything, possibly, nothing
At all. The Calico kneaded the ground
Below the hole, raised its head
Directed her cranium
To bump frays of wallpaper
Dangling over the entrance.
A need to abuse curiosity
Overtook the Calico’s conscious.
She leapt into the hole
Through the frays
That tickled her face and spine
Like a beaded curtain.
Hid green eyes
Beside a pipe,
That directed germ and cleanser
But darkness grew
Like a blister,
A cranium at once entertained by frays
Imagined them to be prison gates.
The Calico remained-
Having discovered something new
The Calico didn’t want to explore