James Long Poet Prose Poetry

~ (~) ~ the Things of These ~ (~) ~(Part #2 of 6) ~ (~) ~

And I can just see him there by the wind chimes chiming their morning song smiling at us
outside along with the orange juice and apple, and apple butter set up beside the grits
and raisin toast in the toaster. Maple syrup ready for heating in the microwave with many
funny, grand events circumstances questions of the day already being proposed to you in
all seriousness.

Running up and down the spine and belly really wrestling with your patience. Answered
swiftly with light chuckling laughter. As I think wisely and answer saying "as you and I
are set to bed at night, we all too need God's peace in the morning". Stomping on the
floor with a rugged click clack clack... saying "overt, wisdom is not patient to fond
reflection of itself alone. So is the way of the chopstick. Lying there so defined ... .
Hands sick. Hear their plea. They
cry mercy, use me ... !"

Remembering when she was younger their Mothers' Mother our other kitten Precious of
memory's past yes her kittens many antics with my Wife and children and me.

As one of Blue Jeans our oldest Daughters' new Mother Kitten, or I should say Cat now,
with her first little litter of kitten, as we found her pregnant now some time ago and now
her three, no two kittens -- the one little fuzzball I forget her name. They both jumped
me this morning.

One climbing up "my spine right now" one my shoulder scooting down my belly on to my knee
as I stick it out so it can jump onto my broken down dark brown leather Lazy Boy flip back
Daddy chair as I'm leaning myself back, with one hand for the other. As I change their
bowls so they may have food and water. As they play with one another over who in the
process gets my big toe. They haven't figured quite yet it being quite stinky. There being
two, connected to me there is another protruding shell toy of a fleshy
distraction for both of them.

Like the simple spontaneity of my little one, jawing away on a pickle slurping it down
wiping his mouth on my coat shirt pocket, as with a big grunt the youngster looks at me,
then cuts a wet one in its diaper, just as I'm wanting to go to the restroom myself, and
reaching, needing, a paper towel.






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