Crawling towards the round spot of light,
(a spot light)
in the middle of the floor; (everything
else black) you start digging
the carpet
with your fingernails, scratching orange
fibers. Fur is flying and
shards of padding
hit the ceiling. You dig like a backhoe in
chocolate ice cream,
trying to get back into her.
Now, you scrape through
hardwood floors and black concrete the
hole is getting deeper; finally hitting sweet
green grass;
you keep it going with a
frown. Digging, digging,
digging past the
forefathers, grandfathers, grandmothers
Past:
Edger Allen Poe, Dante, Mr. Cummings,
Ted Williams, American Indians.
Past dog
bones. Past locomotives that became
washing machines.
Only your feet and ankles are
visible now sticking out of your
hole! In your room,
I stroll over. I tickle those toes.
You shake. In your hole, I hear you
giggle.
Scotty Dogg
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dig-it-baby/
