His mother gave me a coded disk—
Said I should give it to him for his birthday.
It was full of pictures, she said,
Of us when we were kids.
Stone-faced I received it.
Internal eyes were rolling.
I swallowed a primal sigh of bitter
And placed it in my pouch.
He came in from kiting.
I took the disk and gave him.
I hadn't bothered to wrap it.
He pooches his lips for a kiss.
I give him a peck, then turned and said,
“Your mother wants you to have it.”
His hopeful face, he anticipates,
“I'll be done in forty-five?”
“I'll be asleep by then,” I say,
Turning to walk the other way.
I've tried, but I just don't love him that way—
Poor little orphaned kit.
Said I should give it to him for his birthday.
It was full of pictures, she said,
Of us when we were kids.
Stone-faced I received it.
Internal eyes were rolling.
I swallowed a primal sigh of bitter
And placed it in my pouch.
He came in from kiting.
I took the disk and gave him.
I hadn't bothered to wrap it.
He pooches his lips for a kiss.
I give him a peck, then turned and said,
“Your mother wants you to have it.”
His hopeful face, he anticipates,
“I'll be done in forty-five?”
“I'll be asleep by then,” I say,
Turning to walk the other way.
I've tried, but I just don't love him that way—
Poor little orphaned kit.
-jenn long
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