His Kind She Fought Poem by James McLain

His kind she fought;
just too loose.
Out hunting and she watches
high and low.
Hungry 'Dear's.
You,
Likes him all.
Your favorite alley cat,
He stalks across your wooden kitchen floor.

He gives her fight, each blinding light
like each seizure from the past.
Her Doctor tries too hard to quell.
He is in her now.
And her panic builds,
and hunting him is like the moon
she traps inside her see through jar a bell.

I am her being and his, this much she
knows as each brown finger walks across
her bongo drum and more possessed
she opens up, her back door, where he tap,
tap, taps more loudly than before.
and he comes and walks across
her wooden, kitchen floor.
His kind she fought, when he was food
and now she rests upon the table,
on her elbows over there.
Her manners are now gone,
as he stands up waiting there.
Spreading yes, she wants him more
across her face from ear to ear..

Her lips are sealed, her eyes are shut
and he does what she instructed,
and shuts up as he backs up.
and yes my 'Dears' while he takes,
each
major credit card, you hold.
Do you,
have hidden issues,
that you hide and then explore.
and each brown bag is heavy
and tonight you cry.
As I swell and turn too you,
and say good night.