the thesaroarasaurus

there’s a thesaroarasaurus
that stalks my library
he wanders through the bookshelves
perusing A through Z

his feet leave giant imprints
upon the hardwood floor
for the thesaroarasaurus
never wipes them at the door

the way he handles pages
is such a sore disgrace
for he bends the upper corners
so he doesn’t lose his place

he drools upon the pages
and licks the title spines
he doesn’t care about the yuck
and never pays his fines

for when a thesaroarasaurus
loves the books he’s reading
he doesn’t know “devour a book”
does not refer to eating

there’s a thesaroarasaurus
hiding in the stacks
I think I’ll go check out a book
please pray that I come back

© Sarah Whiteley

the rabbits

says an orange cat
one clear June day
the clover is sweet
do you want to play?

I do says a rabbit
me too! say two
but one little rabbit
from the burrow below
squeaks no!

why not? says the cat
twitching his tail
together we’ll go
where the crisp carrots grow

yes! says a rabbit
oh let’s! say two
but one little rabbit
from the burrow below
squeaks no!

you lie! says the rabbit
we’ll die if we go!
you’ll greet us with teeth
and eat us I know!

don’t go! chirp the sparrows
who agree from the trees
those sharp pointy teeth!
to him you’ll be meat
we know!

but says a rabbit
carrots! say two
we’re so very hungry
what harm could it do?

no harm purrs the cat
I’m no beast of that ilk
my round belly is full
with the farmer’s sweet milk
come go!

up goes a rabbit
close followed by two
at last! grins the cat
no carrots for you!

egad! cry the sparrows
as the cat shakes the brake
sweet tender rabbits
are much better than cake
oh no!

eep! says a rabbit
we’re done! say two
and from way down in the burrow
tucked safely below
one rabbit says
I told you so!

© Sarah Whiteley

With kudos to Existential Poet who put the rabbits in my head… needed to clear them out before I got back to the task at hand.

common courtesy

is it too much to ask
Yesterday to wipe its feet
at the door before entering
or Time to hang its
shadowy coat upon the hook
on the back of my door
I don’t much care for the traces
tracked across the floor
or the dark reminders draped
over the back of my chair
so if you please,
show a little common courtesy
and Tomorrow, when you ring the bell
a warming gift, perhaps merlot,
would not be remiss
Death, I do apologize,
your invite must have been
misplaced in the mail

© Sarah Whiteley