Maybe I’m not observant.
But I’ll tell you what,
I’m perceptive.

And that is a talent that
not everyone possesses.

Bubble bubble
toil
and
spoiled,
you’d burn me up if you could.

Orange and black and blue,
the pretty tigress
tripped over all the wires

and choked on her
promises.

Her words stung as they dove off her tongue.
and she bathed in them
till her coat was soft and washed out.

In the wave
that was tossed on the sand,
baby bubbles rolled over and cried
for the feline momma.

But before she could get to them,
another wave took them away.
The sun was hot,
beating down rhythmically.

She had nowhere to roam,
there was nothing for her past the water
or past the waving wheat field.
Just a deep valley
sideways and longways.