"Pet Sounds" by Jennifer MacBain-Stephens
My pussy left me one early Friday morning, left me a note that it found a better place to be. You didn’t text me that it had hitched a ride to your house twenty minutes down I-95 and then off onto D street. You left a window open in the living room. You told me later that my pussy woke you up, was rude by barging into your bedroom and turned on the light. You let it get into bed with you, tried to comply with its demands, it’s need for fast and slow action, decaf tea, and a low allergen blanket. A few pet names is what it really wanted, a firm handshake, an atta girl. Then you told me that my pussy stole your orange high tops at dawn and ran through the cemetery behind your house. You said it was looking for something— maybe an unassuming jogger or a patch of sun shining over dandelions. My pussy knows when it’s time to play, when it’s time to come home.