Suburban Day
Roofers crawl atop
Peaks, hammering, mad woodpeckers shingle seeking.
The mail truck speeds by, cornering sharply, brakes squealing,
At each box, shoving letters inside, slamming metal doors, before roaring on.
Dogs bark incessantly
One yard over, behind rail fencing,
At the cat, sitting without care, on green grass,
He yawns bored and stalks away, driving the dogs into howling frenzy.
Mom pushes baby
In a stroller, getting in steps,
Talking, cellphone to ear, as they lap the block.
He solemnly watches the houses pass, dropping his bottle secretly, wicked chortle erupting.
Retiree, trimmer wielding,
Edges the verge neatly around concrete.
Wonders why he left his job for this pastoral.
He sighs, checks the mailbox, heads inside, beer and baseball lie ahead.
MEOWMMY’s Three Angel Cats
Last Wednesday
Driving home from writing
I came up to the light on Plainfield at Target.
A silver van was stopped ahead of me.
On the back window was a mom and dad cling
In spacesuits
A license plate that read MEOWMMY.
And then
Three cat clings with angels wings.
And then
Ten! Cat clings without wings
It made me wonder
Kittens?
Had they adopted a litter?
Collectors?
Hanging out at the Scratching Post too much?
Were they all the same?
Calicos? Tabbies? Boys or girls?
How many cat boxes did they have?
That brought me back to the three winged cats.
Had they been ancient and passed gracefully?
Or did they simply give up their remaining eight lives
Due to too much feline company?
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