FERAL CAT ON THE GREEN TABLE
The woman who owns the building
feeds two feral cats who come at closing.
One slipped in when I opened the door,
sat smiling, half-moon eyes, on the table
while I folded and hummed
and thought about,
if in reading the honest poem
what look will you give
without expecting to?
I sometimes wonder about the audience.
The gray cat opens its mouth,
quiets when I pet him.
After all these years in adult clothing,
I walk around in a Swedish cap
Carol says makes me look nine years old.
My fingers are just waking up.
Feels good, I can't stop now I've started
and wearing slippers to the Laundromat
is no hill of beans, or corn, or sweet grass
under the garter of the moon.
Sales Clerk, Men's section of Eddie Bauer
The Ancient Wind Press, Stirring, Comrades, The 2River View, Poetry Super Highway, Little Brown Poetry, Ludlow Press, the Golden Gate Raptor Observatory, Junket, etc.
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