Polite Parasite

My hands wrap tightly around the steaming cup of cider

My fingers tingling as they embrace the warmth seeping through the smooth midnight blue of the ceramic mug

Resting against my knee is the shortly abandoned book with worn yellow pages covered in tired thoughts,

Though the pen still lies open the cap just out of comfortable reach.

In my lap the cat is still curled up, tail twitching against a wet nose

Velvety paws rest beneath his head, royal cushions that support sleepy sapphires who have closed the sparkling mine from hungry shafts of light.


The drone of voices has tapered to a low hum,

accept for small breaks of snorts and giggles as guests with worn smiles try to end pointless conversation,

Hoping to appear polite,

but desperately wishing to resign to their beds;

Wanting their heavy skulls and bloated stomachs to lie in truce beneath the silky sheets.


With the red plush blanket draped over my bare shoulders and my vision sorely drooping,

The figures sprawled beside the dinner table seemed to grow a grey fuzzy fungus,

That hugged the warm golden glare of the room in a sweating mold.








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