Cats (a poem)
They are cautious when the passing of a car
slices beams of light above their heads,
run over slick manhole covers,
slip into the reverence of thick bushes.
These slaughterer’s of birds collect about
in night alleyways; the shivering moon
patient from nights drunk on catnip.
Under windows vacant of
the purring of radios and lights,
they raise their tails in praise
of dogs too tired from the elusive stick,
of things that swim about.
old men and old women
in the ordinary boarding houses,
the milk carriers
harboring delicious saucers,
wait with the kindness
of parents briefly shamed
by a mischevous child.
And sometimes they slip away
as water flows through the gutters in front of
high windowed houses
water fleeing their silver facucets
and the water in the public fountains
through the shapes
of mice and birds.