T.L. Stokes


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.

Location: Snoqualmie, Washington
Occupation: Sales Clerk, Men's section of Eddie Bauer
Email: pongee7@yahoo.com
Publications: The Ancient Wind Press, Stirring, Comrades, The 2River View, Poetry Super Highway, Little Brown Poetry, Ludlow Press, the Golden Gate Raptor Observatory, Junket, etc.

Current | Previous    Submit | Editors    Join | Donate    Links | Contact

Sundress Publications