ALMOST LEAPED
It sounded like the yowl
of a cat preparing to pounce
into a fierce fur ball of feline
screeches, hisses, fangs and claws,
and I almost leaped to the door
in a noisy fray of human
hollering and kicking presence
to separate the fighting beasts
when in another second
the sound was only the neighbor’s
little girl bawling in the wind.
LAST TIME TODAY
The last time I mowed the lawn
is stained onto my white shoes
until I run through a rainstorm
and dive into my car
where windshield wipers
do nothing for my glasses,
and mist clings to windows inside
like sweat on my forehead
returning even after a wipe;
like when I mowed the lawn
the last time last week,
the last time this week
like getting up in the morning
the last time…today.
SILENCE BEFORE
Sirens forced the dogs to howl
as the fire truck honked
intersections closer
then farther away
like neighborhood dogs
reliving the pain of someone-in-need
siren stopped in mid scream
with no smoke ascending into sky
like a pirate X on a tattered map.
All quiet, all forgotten, all usual
until Flight For Life helicopter
circles close enough
to see out the window
and rattle Sunday morning cares
to whoever needed the sirens,
the helicopter coming and going
like fog evaporating, rejoining,
descending, ascending
back to silence before.
CAT CAMOUFLAGE
Thomas, the cat, pretends
he’s bark on a branch
leading up to the robins
chattering ever higher
into the ash tree
camouflaged in leaves
through which cat slinks
except his tail twitches
like a twig waving wind
or a worm after summer
cloudburst wiggling for air
but caught by the early bird;
hopeful they bounce closer
and don’t fly faster
than his lightning paw.
It sounded like the yowl
of a cat preparing to pounce
into a fierce fur ball of feline
screeches, hisses, fangs and claws,
and I almost leaped to the door
in a noisy fray of human
hollering and kicking presence
to separate the fighting beasts
when in another second
the sound was only the neighbor’s
little girl bawling in the wind.
LAST TIME TODAY
The last time I mowed the lawn
is stained onto my white shoes
until I run through a rainstorm
and dive into my car
where windshield wipers
do nothing for my glasses,
and mist clings to windows inside
like sweat on my forehead
returning even after a wipe;
like when I mowed the lawn
the last time last week,
the last time this week
like getting up in the morning
the last time…today.
SILENCE BEFORE
Sirens forced the dogs to howl
as the fire truck honked
intersections closer
then farther away
like neighborhood dogs
reliving the pain of someone-in-need
siren stopped in mid scream
with no smoke ascending into sky
like a pirate X on a tattered map.
All quiet, all forgotten, all usual
until Flight For Life helicopter
circles close enough
to see out the window
and rattle Sunday morning cares
to whoever needed the sirens,
the helicopter coming and going
like fog evaporating, rejoining,
descending, ascending
back to silence before.
CAT CAMOUFLAGE
Thomas, the cat, pretends
he’s bark on a branch
leading up to the robins
chattering ever higher
into the ash tree
camouflaged in leaves
through which cat slinks
except his tail twitches
like a twig waving wind
or a worm after summer
cloudburst wiggling for air
but caught by the early bird;
hopeful they bounce closer
and don’t fly faster
than his lightning paw.
