Warning:
Keep away from children,
lest they burst into flames(
speaking of which)
There is a hair on my keyboard,
burnt at one end like
a black head, oozing cornsilk PUSS
ON MY CAPS LOCK.
AND IT CREEPS ALONG, JUST SO,
HOPPING FROM A to S, to D, then F,
so on and so forth
until it throws a leg over
page-down, and twirls itself tangled
between p and g.
From which poor, incinerated youth
it was plucked, I do not know.
How it happened upon my keyboard,
I cannot fathom. It lays there, curled
twice over, and flooding the spaces
between my keys in follicular tears.
I see it crawl up to the edge
every now and again,
casting a gaze into the abyss.
I wonder if it knows the head
from whom it was thrown;
perhaps it is home sick,
and will set off soon.
I like to think that,
because it is an awful eye-sore,
and I would rather not be reminded of death
every time I press
return.