eyeing the food

Written for:  The Twiglets #166 – “eyeing the food”

The dog eyed a half-eaten hamburger.
His nose quivered. In an acrobatic
feat, he leaped onto a dining
room chair, but was thwarted

I do not like to see eyes
in my food, especially
dead fish eyes, like
those lined up on ice
in the market.

eyes fixed on tarts
in bakery front window
her mouth watered

A little girl born into a brood
had always to scramble for food.
Older siblings would grab
far more than their share
so she glued their shoes, and made her move.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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3 Responses to eyeing the food

  1. Misky says:

    I absolutely adore that limerick!!!


  2. Jules says:

    Pets have to be taught not to beg from the table… While some pets indeed are family they ought to not beg… or be lured by our lunch. 😉

    Clear eyes fresh fish – though I’m not a whole fish fan either…

    Oh… how to we drool over sweets…

    When born into a brood, one must have wits! 😉


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