A flurry to sign up before deadline; two days, ten words,
another toss into the contestant hat for some slight recognition.
His ear punctured by morning purrs, head butts
and extended claws; her oblivion in being. Happy.
On Mondays, I have to get rid of the weekend,
and accept that I’ve done all I could do in two sun-filled days.
He traces a raised line of cat claws with kisses
and ointment to draw out the sting, gone down by morning.
Everything I can’t think of from yesterday;
what I can’t say is caught and tangled in a dream catcher.
I mourn the death of pre-children, a sigh of not quite relief;
my boy cat lies outside the bathroom door, waits with me.
I don’t believe this is spring, not yet; still a breeze,
as I walk to work under discarded petals and gray sky.
My cat attacks my toes, under the covers,
an unidentified alien thing moving. What he must believe.
Boiled water in a mug says it is morning, part of
his ritual and mine, when there is time.
I make wet eggs, old eggs, my earnest attempt
at breakfast, he glues on a smile and reheats the pan.