Cactus Feeler

On the way up I pierce
human skin nudging a hand.
I exist in a clay pot
yet I’d rather be in the land.
And I go without water
though even tomorrow
I may feel the sorrow
and cry me a wee Rio Grande.
Do you know what it’s like,
to be a cactus plant,
at Christmas?

On the ride home I hear
Jingle Bells playing once more.
I am wrapped in green paper
and low in the back on the floor.
And the humans must want me
though other plants taunt me
and make like Gene Autry
when saddle and spur make him sore.
Do you know how it feels,
to be a cactus plant,
this season?

I have a new humble home
at the edge of Detroit.
I am oft handled by hands
yet handling must be adroit.
And they pick at my jaggers
with holiday swaggers
as if carpetbaggers
like I am around to exploit!
Do you know what life’s like,
to be a cactus plant,
at Christmas?


33 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
12-21-14