I have always gone through the mental motions of ducking when I finally unscramble the title of Rita Mae Brown’s book of poetry: The Hand That Cradles the Rock. Relish the irreverence of “The Great Pussblossom” is lobbed to the reader.
Hoisting her tail to the vertical
Pussblossom plants a kiss of suspicion upon her spouse,
“Tell me, dear, have you been eating mouse?”
Just the appropriate note of outré.
And so for day 2031