Hamster Home Office

John Johnson

From my desk, I stare at Chewy, my hamster in his cage.
He gazes back, mimicking everything I do.
 
File folders and yellow pads cover my floor. 
Wood chips and newspaper carpet his cage.
 
I swig coffee quickly from my mug,
He slurps water through a metal straw.
 
I Zoom to another mind-numbing meeting,
while his hamster wheel twirls.
 
I fight with the jammed window to get fresh air,
He bangs on his cage with one fervent paw.
 
The pandemic is ending.  Maybe I should go for a walk?
I open his cage, and his little legs dart as fast as possible, a hostage no more.
 
But then he stops, fear getting the better of him.
I have second thoughts too, and decide to stay put. 
 
I think to myself--when did I get a hamster?
I never did.



John Johnson is a poet from Northern Virginia.  His recent work has been published in The Metaworker, Sundial Magazine, the Parliament Literary Journal, and the Boston Literary Magazine.  A collection of his published poems can be found on his website at: poemsovercoffee.com.

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