Melissa Joan Hart
Was living in the past.
All day she’d talk to black cats she’d walk by
And at night sit at the window hoping Sam would stop by.
But he didn’t, because he wasn’t real.
And the cats would always scratch her whenever she would kneel.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.