Please critique.
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There goes my wonderful Aunt,
Walking, serving, cooking.
With those beautiful
Black & white photographs,
Mounted neatly on the wall.
Racks of DVDs,
Begging me to watch them.
Tempting, but I don’t touch,
Not wanting to disturb the perfectness,
The orderliness.
Those cute cat toys,
Scattered around the home
Like sprinkles on a cupcake.
When I touch the carpet,
It is stiff;
Reminiscent of a cat
And visitors aplenty.
The much used blanket,
Wrapped securely around me,
Feels wrinkled, soft.
The insulator,
The protector from the cold.
Sitting down,
Petting her cat.
Loving, caring, adoring.
She feels soft, silky,
Like a new wedding gown.
Same as most times I’m here,
Crissy and I make cookies.
Moist, melted.
No one wants to wait
To devour these scrumptious snacks.
And there goes the soft pitter-patter
Of Luna, her cat
On the kitchen’s ceramic floor.
Quiet, but it is still there.
Listening closely,
There goes the coffee maker,
Still dripping, plopping, kerplunking
From earlier this morning.
Pots and pans clang
As we try to find the right one
To use in our latest dish.
Loudly, they bang,
But that’s a sign
Of a soon-to-be-ready
Delicious meal.
Giggles
And hysterical laughter
Fill the room
As someone cracks
A brand new pun.
Slurping down
Too many Diet Cokes
I probably shouldn’t have had.
Smacking, chomping, chewing
On a stick of gum,
Aunt Crissy gave me from her purse.
Popped corn,
Sitting in a bowl at my lap.
While we stare,
Our eyes glazed over,
At the movie on the screen.
Munching, I taste
The crunchy snack.
Mouthwatering salsa,
Made by hand.
Remember that?
Wafting aromas
Of that newly cooked meal
Ready to be consumed
By the hungry people.
The distinctive sound
Of an opened Coke
Can be heard
All over this special place.
Overwhelming scents,
Of something like Febreeze
Swiftly floating from room
To room to room.
Mingling smells of kitty litter,
But of course I don’t mind.
In this place,
I feel my best:
Just myself.
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