Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

The Thing September 7, 2011

With a bump and a grunt I started to jump

What was that by the cat?  That thing with the lump?

Something scary

and hairy.

Something wiggling!

(I’m jiggly!)

It is black on its back

It is red on its head.

That bit on the paw,

Was that yellow I saw?I

Those colours so bright are making me weep

from the fright.

I fear it will come near

Will bump into me here?

It will leap while I sleep!

Will it beat me? Or eat me?

I stared and I shivered

It glared and I quivered.

It wiggled closer to me

A tingle ran through me.

A step closer it came

And then closer again!

I just couldn’t help it: I shrieked.

Then the thing, well, it leaked

A small yellow puddle

Of a fellow in a muddle.

Its head tilted down

On its face a sad frown,

From its eyes dripped a trickle.

Oh my! That’s a pickle.

Is it looked up at me, I thought, “Could it be

That the thing over there, That thing covered in hair,

that thing coming near Is not something to fear?

If it leaked when I shrieked,

Did it think I was scary?

Did it think I was hairy?

With black on my head

My back covered in red?

So I took one step nearer and the creature came clearer.

It was cute.  It was fuzzy. It was really quite lovely!

I dropped to my knees as the thing gently sneezed.

“Hello Thing,” I said.  “My name is Fred.”

“Can I be your friend?”

(True story)

The End.


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