A Fighter
By Ryan McLellan
I was amazed she was still alive,
given how cold it had been. She
flew into the bookstore to warm up
and find a potential blood-meal;
probably her last chance.
She circled my head, buzzed an ear
and went towards the back of the
store, where an elderly couple
stood pawing through travel
books, and was swatted by
the woman when she landed
on the back of the man's shoulder.
What she didn't know and I
couldn't tell her, was that I would
have let her have her meal if she'd
landed on my hand or camped out
on my calf. I've got plenty of
blood to spare.
Maybe it was my scent; I've heard
body odor is the best repellent. Or
maybe she saw the sad and tired
look on my face and decided to cut
me a break. Whatever it was,
she spared me and I couldn't
help her.
I love when a seemingly simple poem (simple language, form etc) is actually quite complex
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This is really good.
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Great imagination, and very vivid.
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