it is dark outside, still
the quiet on Bryant, breaks
as the bus approaches and rolls
past
engine groaning
compressors squealing
the protest of machines
Kitty stirs under her blanket
the orange and white stripped tent
I make for her each morning
she waits on the couch and watches
the lioness in her cave
the coffee pot is gurgling
dripping, hissing
on the news there are clips of
the orange-menace is making a fool
of himself
cursing on TV...lying carelessly
the five o’clock bus passes by my
window
it is cold outside
negative 10
my lady is preparing to leave for
work
Kitty follows her through the
apartment
the refrigerator is knocking, I listen
to the heavy breathing of
my kitty
curled up behind me on
her blanket
she lifts her head and
squints
she knows I am writing
about her
or
maybe
it's the knocking in the
kitchen
reminiscent of scurrying
of mice
clicks and scratches
random and faint
distinct from the tapping
of my fingers at the keyboard
a signal to kitty
to get up and play
my lady tells me about her dreams
I play string with Kitty
she pounces into a tangle of fibers
the smell of coffee fills the house
in the dark morning
I listen to the sounds of her dressing, my typing
their warm chatter in the hour before sunrise
