she owns the tufted
flicks not a whisker
as she saunters past three dogs
who diligently avoid eye contact -
the early morning sunspot
belongs to her.
A world encased
about her protectively,
yet she's drawn to the kill -
chatters and stalks,
tense behind glass. "Domesticated"
or so we tell ourselves.
by Margaret Bednar, August 3, 2014
This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Flash 55" a story or poem in 55 words - no more, no less. The images above I took on my iPhone and then used an app called "Waterlogue".