cars roll past the open window
the low-pitched hum of rubber
on asphalt
traffic is light, there have
been no buses
it is Labor Day and
the city is sleeping
in spite of the alarm, in the
car lot of the
nursing home across the
street
....it has been for hours
the late summer-breeze is
cool and dry
Kitty chortles from the
window
at the squirrel in the maple
her old bones creaking
still eager for the hunt
there is traffic on Bryant
tires hissing on the pavement
cars and trucks
and busses
windows open to the avenue
a plane overhead touches down
I listen to its descent
Kitty licks her white-paw
and cleans her
tawny head
Kitty stretches her front paw
cool-light bends through waving glass
sparrow cuts past my plane of view
opposite the
window pane
it is quiet in the morning
with coffee, warm ceramic in my hand
a breeze on my neck from the black plastic fan
the Twins are tied in the bottom of the eighth
the scent of cut grass drifts in through
the window
my lady is out front pushing the
mower
I am typing to the rhythm of its spinning-wheel
and rattle
the hum of traffic flows down
Bryant
Kitty is on her bench watching the
action
the Twins exit the eighth without
advancing
the sun is bright in the cool
afternoon
the dark is breaking
outside the window
a blue-line stretches
across the horizon
spring came
to warm the house today
the hum of the fan
mutes the drone of
TV and traffic
Kitty purring, my lady sleeping
breathing, in the early morning
bare minutes before her rising
tree buds popping
bright green shoots
the Earth respiring
beneath a blanket of dew
everything is covered in snow
poos of slush and a thick sheet of
ice
clinging to the ground beneath it
treacherous April
cold seeping through the window frame
plows scraping the asphalt-street
rattling the bones of my building
the green lawn is buried in white
steadfast Robin minds the nest
my tawny-tabby kitty is talking to me
little bursts of sound like a baby
mumbling
crying
it is quiet in the house, still
she thinks it is well past time
for everyone to be up and moving
she cannot read the clock
she gives no thought to the calendar
she does not know it’s Saturday
it is dark in the glow of the computer screen
the lamp by my desk has gone out
I am writing, I am typing
the commentary on the TV is of treason
the orange-menace pulling the curtain from its rungs
un-draping his naked ambitions
the fragile-façade of a crumbling democracy
American autocracy, it seems
we are governed by Hades kleptocrats
thieving like orange-rats scurrying for crumbs
my cat sits on her blue chair
bored of playing string
I can hear the soft purr of her breathing
thinking, what short work of those plutocrats
if she could
the neighbor’s door opens across the hall
someone exists the building, to start a car in the cold
plane descending to the airport, engines roaring
the city is full of revelers, the Super Bowl is here tomorrow
.JPG)
the radiators in my new apartment do not clang and bang
they are filled with hot water, not steam
I hear the water flowing into them, in a low-pitched rush
as the boilers work to beat the
cold
air seeping through the windowsills
Kitty is curled into her blanket
head in paws on her stuffed chair
the quiet is broken by the sound of the neighbor's toilet
my lady is tossing in her sleep...coughing
struck-ill by a January virus
