Wednesday, November 10, 1999

Stalking

The sun bathes my face
And I reach for my cat
Who bathes her own.
She's learned that the fall
Could rob her of playful pounce.
She purrs in the warm beams.

The fly she shoots toward
Buzzes up with anger from
Its shingle, and she
Indignantly pads back to
The window-it is, after all-
An often site of flies.

She lands in my bedroom
And stalks toward a cottonball
Under my vanity; my cue to
Leave the front porch roof.
Nov. 10, 99

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