by J V Birch

She’d not long been a cat when her mother
came home one day to find her torturing
a mouse and squeaked enough is enough!

And so she thought about what she could be,
though she’d miss the clean pink of her mouth.
A fish is out of the question. She could never

fathom water, all that depth makes her insides
out. A bird could work, but extreme heights send
her dizzy. Maybe a dog instead without being

mastered…a thin movement catches her
eye. Now a spider, that would be interesting,
something to panic the edges. She’d have fangs,

a presence in corners, hello the unsuspecting
with a smile like split clowns. She feels her legs
multiplying as her tail disappears, fur thinning

on the hulk of her, mouth becoming mandibles,
a lick of lightening at her ends. In her slick
new self she quickly scales a kitchen wall,

as her mother starts buzzing below

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