Sleeping With Boa
I show her how to put her arms around me,
but she’s much too small.
What’s worse, she doesn’t understand.
although she lies beside me, sticking
out her tongue, it’s herself she licks.
She likes my stroking hand.
even lets me kiss.
But at my demand:
“Now, do it to me, like this,”
she backs off with a hiss.
What’s in her little mind?
Jumping off the bed,
she shows me her behind,
but curls up on the rug instead.
I beg her to return. At first, she did,
then went and hid
under the covers. She’s playing with my feet!
“Oh, Boa, come back. Be sweet,
Lie against me here where I’m nice and warm.
Settle down. Don’t claw, don’t bite.
Stay with me tonight.”
Seeming to consent, she gives a little whine.
Her deep, deep pupils meet mine
with a look that holds a flood ...
But not my brand.
Not at all.
what‘s worse, she’s much too small.
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Comments about this poem (Sleeping With Boa by May Swenson )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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