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Below are poems written by poet Andrew Crisci. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.

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I wouldn't take in any cats that scratch and fret, 
even if they gave me them for free and begged;
wild and mean Rusty was my first and only cat:
I hated when his flaming red hair started to shed.

Man crazy things he did when he was left unattended,
he scratched my couch and torn my leopard pillows;
he made me scream, but he looked at me and meowed
as if I would pick him up and pat him as I had always.

The worst thing he has ever done that really made me so mad:
was when he shook my pretty Christmas tree and started to run;
all the golden baubles fell off its branches and shattered,
I grabbed him and put in a bird cage until he calmed down.

The carpet was the scene of a mess, shattered glass on the wrapped toys,
he stood on his claws shaking and quietly stared at me with very soft eyes: 
apoligizing for his bad behavior, for the first time he seemed a different cat;
I picked him up with immense tenderness forgetting he had been such a brat.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci


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