I know that my whining isn’t the nicest sound
but I feel out of options these days.
I won’t bark
because I’m not mad at you guys,
and silence doesn’t show my sadness,
so I whine.
I know I’m not meant to claw the couch
but you’ve been there for hours
still silent and mindless
and still still,
with one hand still clasped,
a thumb swiping now and again
(and again)
(and again)
for the last two hours,
the other hand free to push me away
when my whining gets a bit too disruptive.
“Get down,” you used to mutter
but nothing is uttered anymore,
‘cause I don’t even deserve a telling-off.
You hold those things harder than I bit the rope
when we (used to) play tug of war,
and you stare more seriously at that screen
than I would ever watch a dog across the road.
Why? I whine.
What is it?
If it’s so cool…
and interesting…
and addictive…
Where’s mine?
I’d rather lay still on this floor
with one paw hardly moving,
not wanting to even blink my eyes,
entertained enough that I forget to whine,
than have you ignore my puppy dog eyes
because anything has to be better than this.
These days
the more I whine
the less they seem to hear me.
This is a family,
someone’s family…
But where’s mine?
Celeste Wilner – Year 12
