The Wasp

I watch a wasp labour
across August pavement,
feet scorched for
want of working wings.


I pump my gas,
chew an indignant hangnail,
ponder this wretch's
end.


Misery thick like heat,
fuel stops. I re-holster,
then euthanize

with size four flats.

Family Dinner

Knives scratch like
warning sirens across
plates and platters;
forks stab listlessly at
leftover hunks of
meat, congealing
in pools of fat;
glasses clunk
hastily on polished
oak; watches are
checked, then
checked again.
Just another family
dinner turned cold,
long before the food
itself.

Syria

man above, see them dying
on the ground, their bodies lying
discarded in the guttered street
final breath, last heart's beat
a silent prayer in communal breast
too many souls to lay to rest

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2012.

Thanks

I just wanted to write a quick thank you to anyone who has come here to read my writing, even if it was by accident. Ha ha! I can't believe that anyone other than people I know have even been here. In any case, a big thanks - truly.

Little Pieces

I've fallen upon
little pieces of you.
They were perched
in silence, clustered
like birds in the rafters,
heads tucked under
wing to protect them from
the December wind. I've arrived;
unannounced;
throwing open the doors
and letting the gales traverse
the wood-slatted walls,
breaking upon the
little bird pieces,
and watching
their scattered departure
with hope-helpless eyes.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2012.

Rain falls from a cloudless sky,
Looking for some leaflife to nourish,
much like this mother - full of potential,
but useless.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2012

Moustache

like an old-time moustache
riding haughtily upon
a fine gentleman's
upper lip, you
are comical to me