Subsleepers

by Aidan Andrew Dun

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On winter nights
they slide
underneath to
suck at iron pipes
which are nipples
cradle in the shadow
of radiators, warm
hearts to them in
January atmospheres.

Stretched full-length
beneath the maternal
heat of some huge
friendly thing
which purrs
they are cats
curled sleeping
under motor-cars
dreaming of mothers’
big furry bellies:
sumps for kittens
who suck from
lactating chassis
black oils which
miraculously
turn white.

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