Improv 1, Week 7

Improv-ing the coupled lines of Albert Goldbarth's 2,700 Miles. Giving myself a 10-12-syllable requirement. I didn't particularly like this one.

Frisky and Whizz

My sister and I had owned a hamster
before, but it lost its breath in an ooze of blood.

So to cease the sentiments for the dead,
we decided that an upgrade was logical.

These two replacements rattled in boxes
and we peeped through holes to see them scamper inside.

They curled, like round balls of golden cotton
and there eyes gleamed like painted globes in the dark.

I opened one box, and a nose peeked up
that rattled in a tempo for salsa dancing.

And two pairs of eyes stared at each other.
And a golden puddle grew under hamster cheeks.

And I closed the box in fear of the smell
of hamster puddles, and a creature now dubbed Whizz.

Which was better off than my sister's pet,
who took the more rabid approach and bit at

her fingers. The same fingers that released
Frisky the hamster, as he soon came to be known

into the rainy grasses of the wild,
the day he turned up nesting beside the baby

who was still learning to roll off his back
and its mother let out those screams those mothers do.

and my sister and I, hands full of soft
twitching hamster bodies sank into the bushes

and our nose made snuffling noises
as we bid our goodbyes to the escape artists

who would never see a cage again.