No place to go, Kahlua, our cat,
casually watching the snow,
no squirrels around, starlings hidden,
away, an insect,
a spider, nothing worthwhile or
blowing leafs to espy...
No treacherous journeys taken,
no butterflies wings
over clouds traversing mountains
in Mexico, no nets to escape,
arriving early or late.
Not caring for accumulated bonds,
stocks stashed in drawers.
Not making war, peace, idolized
prayer, no wishing to share,
just looking out the storm door,
nor movement or stares.
I'm entranced - through the slush,
black glazed ice,
I maneuvered home, dexterously
drove, garaged my car,
proud as a peacock, yet no
further escapade today...
But my tortoiseshell feline, sated,
warm and relaxed,
sat a few moments... then strode
leisurely a familiar way,
a trivial page turned in an
inconsequential everyday play.
5th December 2003
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York.