Intriguing little poem. Feels like it could mean a lot of things. Indirectly I wound up thinking about my daughter, since she accidentally punched me in the junk yesterday while going for an enthusiastic hug. Obviously, this is deeper than that, but it still begs the question of what to do with well-intentioned destruction.

THX is right, it’s a fun insert here read. I envisioned a bad little dog.

Or maybe a clock, with face & hands, but a broken alarm, waking the protagonist late, losing his job, and all that silly Woody Allenesque mess in between.

32 ^2 got close. ;-)

I had been working to grow some catnip, rosemary, and lavender. I’d planted the seeds in a little grower, and had been diligently watering and caring for them for a couple weeks.

They had just begun to bud and grow, their cute little leaf-pairs breaking the surface of the soil. I was as proud as a new daddy…

But then, one morning, I awoke to find my cat sleeping next to a big mess of dirt and dead sprouts — the remains of my babies.

The cat was… SLEEPING… next to her victims. So adorable…

It’s hard to condemn such a cutie for smashing your hopes and dreams upon the shag carpet.

;-)

So, of course, I decided to write a poem about it, which was open-ended enough that it could sound like a poem about postpartum depression.

I had fun writing it. :-)

I was a good bit depressed about losing my sprouts, though. But I managed to save some of them, and they’re growing happily as we speak.

Perfect example of my absolute favorite (which is also my absolute .least. favorite) part of literature. I had a compleeeteely different idea about this when I first read it. Thought it could, possibly, be able an abusive relationship…maybe not an unwanted one either. Then I read the comments and re-read the piece and understanding it a little better in a different way. I think I love this both ways. :)