From Hormone Imbalance to Death

When I was a teenager, I used to work
at Dairy Queen. I had to help the man in charge
spell people's names on ice cream cake.

I used my first paycheck to buy combat boots
that got lost more than twenty years later
when I got divorced.

I can't remember the name
or gender of my teddy bear hamster,
but it starved to death

when my family was on vacation.
When we got home it had escaped its cage
in spite of me placing several books on top.

We found its dead body inside a kitchen cabinet,
skinny, curled to one side, and all alone.
Sometimes we learn the hard way

that other people think we're overreacting
by getting really upset when a little pet dies,
as if it should be easy to replace

one little pet with another little pet
or one little spouse with another little spouse.
As if death is not the end of everything.

I'm going to pretend my hamster's name was fuzzy wuzzy.
Years later, I acquired an entourage of pet mice.
Sometimes we learn the hard way

that some mice will eat their own babies
like sadistic cannibals, leaving nothing but half a body
attached to a head that will always live inside mine.

Many years later, I bought myself a new pair
of combat boots. From black to pewter glitter.
I've now owned them for more than four years

but have only worn them three times.
Next month I'll be turning 50. Maybe
I'll start using my glittery combat boots
to smash my house centipedes.

Juliet Cook is brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. She is drawn to poetry, abstract visual art, and other forms of expression. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications. You can find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.